


In every light she is a beauty

by oathkceper



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Depression, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Longing, Mentions of Suicide, True Love is Real, mentions of depression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-07-29 00:37:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 33,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20073250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oathkceper/pseuds/oathkceper
Summary: Brienne was nothing short of an unconventional beauty, but she was nothing short of anything at all, really. With legs longer than Jaime’s poor mind could fathom and limbs as never ending as the deep blue tides within the iris surrounding the eclipse of her pupils, Brienne Tarth was an extraordinary piece of art.—Jaime Lannister is an artist struggling with the loss of his right hand in an explosion that almost ended his life, as he often wished it did. But therapist Brienne Tarth may be the reason he is still living, along with his reason worth living.





	1. annoyance

**Author's Note:**

> I hope to write a new ficlet every day for each prompt, though it will depend on schedules. I look forward to hearing your comments!

Brienne was nothing short of an unconventional beauty, but she was nothing short of anything at all, really. With legs longer than Jaime’s poor mind could fathom and limbs as never ending as the deep blue tides within the iris surrounding the eclipse of her pupils, Brienne Tarth was an extraordinary piece of art. She was a sight that Jaime could - and would - define as a masterpiece, though not the kind crafted by numerous hands, but the kind created to be a marvel. Jaime had seen his fair share of masterpieces in his years, for his own hung on gallery walls across the world, yet his most gazed upon works were not the ones held in high security buildings, but the kind hung on the walls of his own home with Brienne’s inspiration hidden in plain sight in each and every one. 

Each freckle that dotted her pale skin in clusters that constellations could be mapped within had been counted numerous times in Jaime’s troubled mind. There was little else to do when in therapy, except distract himself from the turmoils that followed his every step like a shadow that was present even in the gloomy weather from his past. Sometimes, Jaime caught himself following the movements of her graceful body whenever she shifted in her chair, the precise arch in her back as she stood, or the delicate flick of her wrist when her pen scribbled on her notepad, grasped by long and thin fingers with nails always coated in a different shade of blue.He often caught himself gazing upon her lips too, which were sometimes painted with a lipstick red enough to make her skin and shortened hair even whiter, as they were today.

Everything about Brienne Tarth was as elegant as a Queen’s swan, even with a beauty that was sometimes frowned upon in the modern world. It infuriated Jaime, it made his blood boil beneath his skin until it radiated in his cheeks and down part of his neck. She was his therapist, and she was unaware that she soon would be the very reasons for his visits. 

“Mr Lannister?” Her well pronounced voice cut through his thoughts like it always did, the velvet tones coiling around his mind in tendrils that soothed him as much as they annoyed him. Eyes of sapphires looked upon him questioningly, her long and pale lashes casting light shadows on the tops of her cheeks. Her head was held as high as always, her neck seeming even longer with the turtleneck collar of her deep blue silk shirt. Yet more milky skin for Jaime to be distracted by. 

“What was the question?” Jaime asked with a cough, shaking his head to clear his mind and blinked a few times for good measure, tucking his lengthened hair of threaded gold behind his ear as if to allow her voice to be heard better. 

“You have seemed distant over the course of this session, Is there something that occupies your mind that you would like to share before we end?”

Of course, he wanted to say that the dark blue silk shirt she wore was the thing tormenting him today; the way it accentuated the strength of her shoulders and how although the loose fitting arms did not show off the muscles of her arms as well as it should, the definition of her power was not lessened. He wished to explain to her that the dip of the fabric between her breasts, revealing a trail of unseen freckles he had not seen before set his pulse so high he could feel his blood vibrating beneath his skin as it moved, but did not wish to stare because of the obvious insinuations, and drove him beyond the point of insanity. The material of the shirt was thin, but the shine of the fine silk made her glow even brighter from her perfect position in the room where the golden sun streamed through the windows to highlight her in a way Jaime would surely find the inspiration to paint her with later on. Jaime also wished her could tell her that the way her right leg was crossed over her left whilst trapped within fitted pants not only increased the length of her impossibly long legs, but gave her a certain air of power that would have Jaime on his knees had he not been glued to his own seat. That her curves were so well defined beneath the tight fabric he thought of running his hands over them until he had mapped out each angle with a precision only the most skilled mathematicians could hope to match. 

Jaime wished he could say that the annoying itch in his mind was caused by her and her alone, that the way her astonishing eyes drilled holes into his skull drove him to a point where he could not remember exactly why he had needed a therapist in the first place. But of course, he could not. It was ironic really, that his therapist was the cause of his problems. 

“Many things,” Jaime eventually said after a pause, crossing his legs over one another as he leant back in his recliner, pressing his still able fingers to the ones on his prosthetic hand to avoid his fidgeting. “One of them being the recollection that you, Dr Tarth, assured me that you would save title of ‘Mr Lannister’ for my father. All other thoughts can be saved for next week.”

No matter how hard he tried, no matter how many years of experience Jaime had with colours of all kinds, the shade of blush that scattered itself across her cheekbones could not be defined with an already existing one, much to his dismay. Painting her was so much harder without existing shades. 

“Do you prefer Sir Lannister?” She asked, the young innocence of her tilted head causing his jaw to clench with the effort not to lash out and tell her to stop with this personal attack on his sanity. Jaime had been knighted by Queen Daenerys two years prior for his inspirational contribution to the world with his poetic artistry. He had almost denied it, he did not wish to be knighted, but he knew his father, and sister, would murder him if he did not go through with it.

“Only in bed.” He was ever grateful for the gift of quick wit. “You know that Jaime is what I prefer elsewhere. I even highlighted it when I wrote out your cheque last week.” 

“As you wish,” She nodded, her sapphire eyes darting between his own and the notepad balanced expertly on her knee, before she added - “Jaime.” 

Gods, he could weep every time his name spilt from her lips. Her tongue licked at every vowel, caressing it with her silky voice until his name was given a whole new meaning. Instead, he inwardly seethed at what it did to his poor, withering heart. Jaime was sure he had plucked out more grey hairs from his scalp since he met her than in the army, or every throughout his teen years.

“I believe that brings us to the end of our session then, if there is nothing else you would like to add, that is.” Uncrossing her legs, Brienne pressed her knees together and leant froward in her seat, prepared to stand and bid him farewell as she did every week. Regretfully. 

“I would not want to waste more of your time, Doctor. Or more of my money, for that matter.” Grasping the edge of his chair with his good arm, he heaved himself up with a shallow grunt at the effort. His limbs ached from sitting for so long, over the course of two hours his joints had seemingly moulded together, but as always, Brienne rose with the grace of a pampered cat and stood with the elegance and height of a ballet dancer. 

“I believe we are making some process, you seem less tense and agitated as of recent weeks. I hope you feel these sessions are helping as well as I do.” She stepped towards the door then, reaching out one of her long, silk covered arms to wrap her delicate fingers around the door handle to pull it open. 

“I do, Doctor.” He agreed, a smile tilting at the corners of his lips as he walked forward, standing in front of her now at a height she could look down on had she been wearing the same heels as last week. 

Surprisingly, a rare smile of her own red painted lips, showing her gleaming teeth, despite the slightly crooked nature of them, her head ducking almost shyly along with it, only to raise with a forced confidence after a few tendrils of her white-blonde hair that changed colours in the sunlight fell over her face. “If I am to call you Jaime, It is only suitable that you call me by my name. Call me Brienne.” 

Jaime could take it no more. That annoying little scratch in his heart had to be relieved, and if he did nothing about it now then he would not be able to sleep over the next week until he saw her again. 

“Brienne,” He murmured, testing it out on his tongue, not that he hadn’t in the privacy of his studio where his paint brush had been stroking across her lightly flushed cheeks in a way the fingers on his left hand could only dream of. “May I make a proposal?” 

“Of course.” She nodded, her painted fingers rising to tuck her hair behind her ear once more as her head tilted to the side. It was in this light that she looked more typical beauty than conventional, where the slightly crooked slope of her nose was straightened by the shadow casted by the sun streaming in through the windows. Where her pale eyebrows and even paler lashes were given more of a bolder shade, and her angular features softened to that of a softer woman’s. Jaime was left breathless, but not by the glorified lighting that made her look as though she were more goddess than woman, but by the sheer belief that Brienne Tarth was even more of a beauty when half of her face was not hidden by shadows, rather when it glowed in the warm hues of the sun that glorified every feature of hers, exactly how it was. 

Jaime swallowed. 

“Now that we are on an equal first name basis, It only seems fair that we get to know each other on the according level. You know more about me than I know about myself, proven by your unbelievable observational skills, but I know nothing about you.” 

Those goddamned crystallised oceans in her eyes had a certain way of weakening his knees when they met his own gaze. It agitated him that this woman whom he knew nothing about had the ability to turn him religious when he prayed to all of the Seven to give him the strength he needed to stand in her presence. 

“Well,” She began, her top teeth biting down on her plump lower lip to stop her smile from spreading completely across her face, her gaze wavering from his eyes to her shoes. “You know my number, don’t you? Isn’t that all the information you are in need of for now? Besides the fact that I’m free this Friday night?” 

Jaime could not help his surprised chuckle. Nothing about this woman was subtle; not her height, her strength, her voice or her grace, but Jaime was besotted all the same. Perhaps his previous annoyance had been at his reluctance to admit it to himself.

“I believe it is.” He agreed, nodding his head with a smile that he had not felt upon his face since his first gallery opening. “I’ll make sure to put such information to good use.” 

Again, she blushed, but this time she met his eyes as she did, and it was such a sight that belonged on the walls of the Louvre. “I’m glad of it. I look forward to seeing you again, Jaime.” 

“And I you, Brienne.” 

When he was safely out the door to her office and he heard the soft click of the door behind him, Jaime allowed himself to laugh, albeit softly as to not alert Brienne on the other side of the door. Running a hand over his face in a trance of disbelief, he could not contain his happiness, nor could he stop the longing that crept into his heart, only this time, it was welcomed. 


	2. hurt/comfort

Painting had always been a passion of Jaime’s, it was one of the many things he had inherited from his mother before she passed. The way the brush glided over the blank canvas with either a touch as light as a feather or as heavy as the burdens that weighted on his tired shoulders always mesmerised him, his eyes of fern green following each movement with such intensity he often thought he was scolding the surface. Painting had always calmed him, but sometimes it infuriated him beyond common sense with only his left hand. His lines were not as precise anymore, and the pain of his corrupted heart was evident in each stroke. 

Jaime first thought it a curse that his right hand was taken from him, that the beauty and precision he had once been able to paint with was taken from him, but without its loss he would never be as well known for his art as he is now. He would never be able to bring people to tears with the sight of his work had he not incorporated the pain of losing part of himself in it with every crooked line or poorly drawn scenery, but sometimes he wondered whether or not it was worth it. 

After leaving the army with one hand and two more reasons for his father to call him a failure, his art had become the soul purpose of his life. Previously, he had worked for his father’s empire of businesses he had never taken the time to look into, but soon it became tiresome to think enough to talk to anyone, and to think at all became painful. His mind was infested with memories of a life he wished he had never known that flashed behind his eyes as suddenly and as unexpectedly than the blast which had taken his right hand from him. Left only with the hand he could barely hold the handle of a brush in, Jaime could do naught but suffer with his frustrations whilst being the constant target board for any degrading words spat at him by his sister or father with a ferocity that he had become immune to flinching at. 

After meeting Brienne, his life seemed to calm, the memory of the oceans in her eyes managed to lull him to sleep at night when insomnia gripped his body like the unforgiving and unwanted ghost of his past self. Her melodic voice orchestrated harmonies soft enough to lose himself in, to remodel himself in. Her words of encouragement and her understanding of his pain and torture only added to her beauty, even if it were not physically conventional. Her skills in deduction and observation could challenge those of famous detectives, and although it had been challenging at first for Jaime to be comfortable in her presence because of such skill, all it took was one gaze into her comforting stare to soothe him. 

But sometimes, he lost himself still. 

Demons from the past haunted him and clawed at his lungs until he felt as though he could not breathe without coughing up blood in the process. The own hateful and spiteful ghost of Jaime Lannister four years prior even tortured him into a state of anger that caused sudden bursts of aggression. Tonight, though, that demon had been in the form of Cersei Lannister; his sweet, manipulative, vile twin whom he had played the puppet for 35 years too long. 

Paint had flown everywhere, staining his clothes and matting in his hair, splattering across his white walls until he was surrounded in that godawful Lannister red which he had tried so hard to avoid over the past years. His own cries had ripped from his throat, causing him such pain that he was in danger of spitting out the same shade after tearing his throat open. Jaime had tried so hard to contain his anger and to soothe himself like Brienne had taught him, but it was too much for him to handle and he regretted falling into the abyss of agony now that he observed the damage. 

It was how he ended up on an unfamiliar doorstep at quarter past midnight two days after his last session with Brienne. As he promised himself he would, Jaime had texted Brienne to make plans for the upcoming Friday, and included in the information she had given - besides the fact that she had the habit of using too many emojis when texting casually - had been her address. It was improper of him to show up in such a state, with his once own prideful colour staining him like it always seemed to do, but his impulsive decision had led him here and there was no option of turning back now.

The sight that greeted him on the other side of the door when he had knocked three times would have surprised him had he not been in the state of self-shock that he was. 

Brienne the ever elegant was dressed in nothing but an old Evenstar Warriors football jersey and shorts that could hardly be seen beneath the shirt, making her legs on full, delectable display. Mused white-blond hair fell over her forehead, her eyes half lidded and squinted to try and take in the sight before her in such a sleepy state. When she finally did catch onto just who was stood outside her door looking as if they had been attacked and beaten half to death, she covered her body with the door in attempt to maintain some modesty. 

“Jaime?” She murmured, followed by a yawn that she hid behind her fine fingers that also managed to conceal the blush in her cheeks. The name seemed to slip from her lips without the professional act she always put on during sessions, and for that Jaime was most grateful; he wasn’t sure that he could handle being called Mr Lannister. 

“I know it’s late,” He started, for once not so distracted by her endearing attire because of the thunderstorm swarming around in his mind. “Well, too early, for that matter. But I didn’t know where else to go to calm myself.” 

Behind her evident flush at being caught looking so mused and untidy by one of her clients, Jaime could see some reluctance hidden within those sapphires which resided in her eyes. Eventually, to his great relief, she finally opened her oak door wide to allow him the room to step inside. 

“You need to change your clothes before you sit on my couch. Or at least put something around you.” She instructed, and Jaime swore he could see hints of a smile tilting up the corners of her pale pink lips. 

It wasn’t until Jaime was sat on Brienne’s couch wrapped in an old towel and cupping a mug of hot tea in his hands that he finally spoke again, having been silent as she fussed around for him whilst yawning too many times for his tally to be accurate. Despite the guilt of waking her up and allowing her to carry herself on tired legs around to care for him and his own bad habits, he did not allow it to consume him. Too many emotions were coursing through his veins for him to be able to stomach yet another bad feeling. 

“I’m sorry for waking you.” Jaime began after taking a heavy sip of his tea, the warmth of it seeping down his throat in a way that caused him to sigh pleasantly. “I realise now that my impulsive decision to come here should really have been more thought through.” 

“I wasn’t sleeping. I was working.” She explained from where she sat on the armchair opposite the couch he was seated on. The set up reminded him very much of the one they had during their sessions, even the tidy and vintage interior of her home matched the design of her office. With her exposed legs covered in a thin woollen throw, she looked less like the smart and sophisticated doctor that he was accustomed too, and still be was smitten. 

“Working, at this hour?” He asked, cocking one of his eyebrows. 

“I suppose you were doing the same before your angered outburst.” As always, so spoke so surely and yet so calmly, her face displaying not a single look of judgement, or even the slightest gleam of smugness in her eyes at her deduction. 

Jaime chuckled weakly. “I should know by now that I can’t hide anything from you.” 

Brienne simply smiled tiredly in response, waiting for him to continue. 

“Before the judgement begins, be aware that I tried your methods to calm myself. I tried to walk outside but my feet were stuck to the ground and before I knew it, all I could see was red. Literally.” Again, he laughed at himself, casting his gaze down to watch the swirl of the tea in his cup as he gently twisted his wrist. 

“I never judge you, that is not my job.” She assured, shaking her head and causing tendrils of white to fall over her face. “Even If it were, I see nothing here to judge. Don’t be afraid.” 

“Thank you.” Jaime was sincere in his words, how couldn’t he be when this woman had taken him in at this godforsaken time whilst under no obligation? “I just grew so overwhelmed. I was painting one minute, then my hand cramped and I turned to my right hand to finish the section I was working on and It all rushed back to me harder than I think it has in a while. I took one look at this golden fucking curse my sister gave me and my body took over.” 

“You must be quite shaken.” Brienne observed quietly, her brilliant gaze watching as his body began to tremble when his eyes fell onto the golden prosthetic that had done more bad than good. 

“Was that meant to be a pun?” He asked half heartedly, feeling himself practically vibrate whilst flexing the fingers on his fake hand. The wires attached to his nerves allowed him to move the hand, but each time he did it only triggered more or an empty feeling to travel throughout his system. He felt the loss more now that he had a replacement, from his sister of all people too. 

“I’m a therapist. I don’t have a sense of humour.” There was a sense of amusement in her voice, though not one meant to offend, one that he hadn’t heard before, and his head shot up to look at her in surprise. A grin grew on his lips, the burden of his hand floating away to be replaced by awe at the woman in front of him. She never did fail to surprise him, whether it be with her appearance, with her intelligence, with her comfort, or now with her humour. 

“I’m not a murderer either, but i’m sure I look it.” Jaime jested in return, taking pleasure in the soft laugh she hid behind her hand. Those ladylike mannerisms only accentuated the prowess she held. “Thank you for allowing me in. I know how improper it must be.” 

“Don’t thank me. We are on a first name basis after all, it’s only procedure.”

“Aye, I suppose you’re right, Brienne Tarth.” Jaime shook his head once again, some of his red and paint-matted hair falling over his eyes at the movement. He had forgotten what it was like to have a friend, if that is what they were. It certainly felt like it, and Jaime was more than glad of it. 

A sudden wave of despair came over him then, it flooded his mind in a tidal wave that could easily suffocated him at any given moment. He was used to such changes in his mood at simple thoughts such as the one that just infiltrated his mind, and so was Brienne. Some days were worse than others, some thoughts too, but it was to be expected given his circumstance. As sudden as it was, without the ability to think of much else, it was difficult to be shocked by it anymore. Usually, he turned to painting to straighten his mind and to swerve it from rapidly declining thoughts, but there were other times he could barely move himself out of bed, the turmoil of his life weighing him down until his bones seemingly turned to dust under his sweat-soaked skin.

“Are you okay?” She asked softly, noticing the glazed look in his eyes. Brienne was accustomed to such a look from Jaime, it was the only gaze she saw in his eyes for their first few sessions. Sometimes she still caught onto it when he was having his bad days, which were more frequent than not, and each time it happened, she couldn’t help that sinking feeling in her chest. 

“Aren’t I always?” Jaime asked, and it was a miracle he was able to gain control in his body to be able to speak at all. 

“No,” She replied with a voice as soft and as fair as any noble knight, shaking her head in the moment of silence that followed. Slowly, she stood herself up, the woollen blanket pooling at her feet which she stepped over when she took three long strides over to him until she was sat on the cushion beside him. “But that’s okay.”

Jaime looked up at her, his mouth pressed in a thin line to keep his emotions at bay. 

“You don’t have to be okay all the time. You’re only human.” 

He swallowed thickly, nodding once again in acceptance of her gentle words which seemed so intimate with their close proximity. For one moment, he wished to lean forward and kiss those plump lips of hers, but he would not. It was not the time, nor was it the place, and her angelic presence was more than enough for now. 

When he looked down, he saw that one of her delicate hands had laid itself over his golden prosthetic, and for once when he viewed the fake limb, he did not submerge himself into the memory of its loss, or into the sadness it had caused him and the life it had taken away with it, but instead he smiled. 

“Thank you.” Jaime whispered, his left hand laying carefully over where hers rested to squeeze gently. Her skin was smooth, the strength at which she squeezed back surprisingly him only momentarily before his eyes glazed over once again, though this time not with the tidal wave of depression, but with unshed tears. He looked up at her once more, sure that the red paint splattered on his face was more of an unappealing sight as his trembling lip, but he did not care, nor did she seem to either, not with her gaze as calm as the sea that rolled in soft waves of sapphire within her eyes. 

“Thank you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Brienne will be more feminine in this fic as a whole and the reason behind it is that she can still have as much strength and as much courage whilst being more feminine, especially in modern au.


	3. coffee shop

Jaime had never been a fan of big crowds, he didn’t appreciate the amount of people that confined him to the spot - lusty women - like a swarm of wasps which he could not bat away no matter how hard he tried. With a family as wealthy as his own and with breathtaking looks he mostly considered to be a curse rather than a blessing, it was hard to maintain a sense of privacy when out in public, especially after the incident. It was why he had chosen to meet Brienne in the cafe just outside the estate he lived within; late hours on Fridays meant less prying eyes, less inconsiderate questions about his missing limb, and less sympathy from people he did not want it from. 

People were nosy, unbelievably so, each opportunity one got to ask about his missing limb was taken without consideration, and each and every time Jaime was forced to explain caused the ever growing feeling of emptiness to expand and spread. He had been told thattalking about it would help him, but in doing so previously he had only been forced into a state of self hatred. The sympathy, the sad glances, the apologies, all of it he hated, yet he could not escape it. 

Brienne had been different. Of course, it was her job to make those she talked to feel comfortable with themselves and with her, but even with her observational skills he didn’t feel on edge anymore, he didn’t feel like his emotions were being stripped naked by one look from those eyes of sapphire. She did not apologise for what had happened to him, she did not ask about what happened, she did not pry into his life and she did not offer any sympathetic glances, only soft looks meant to soothe any worries his mind was suffering at the time. Instead, she asked about how he was, if he was struggling, offering her help to him to overcome the endless cavern of lost hope that his mind had become, and Jaime could never remember having such support from anyone besides Tyrion. It made him feel less lonely in the world. 

“Good evening.” Her voice broke him out of his reverie, and for a moment Jaime did not register that she was stood in front of him until he blinked once, and then twice again to be sure of her presence when his eyes lifted from where he was watching his finger trace the rim of his coffee cup. 

“Evening.” He replied after a moment, his lips spreading to accommodate a smile that matched her own red-lipped one as she slipped her cashmere coat off her shoulders to fold neatly onto the back of the chair across the table from him. 

Jaime had seen her in this particular outfit once before, and he remembered distinctly that it was the first one that had left him beyond breathless, though looking back on it now he safely assumed that it was an under reaction on his behalf, for she looked stunning. 

Brienne wore a simple silk jumpsuit of the richest red which accented the paleness of her skin in a way that made her freckles stand out more than they usually did, the constellations hidden within them lighting up with the hues of warmth that the material expelled. Though her legs were long, the loose fit of the fabric made them infinitely longer as it pooled at the subtle curve of her hips which had been shaped by the elastic at her waist to give her more of a figure. The jumpsuit was sleeveless, and Jaime had to assume that she had picked her outfit out this morning when the sun had shone at a sweltering temperate without checking the weather later on in the day. With raindrops clinging onto the ends of her eyelashes, Jaime thought for a moment that the waves trapped in her eyes had broken loose, but with further inspection, he could also see that her ruby painted lips shone with a light sheen of water, and Jaime could not stop his eyes from latching onto the sight as if he were a predator about to devour his prey whole. 

“Im sorry for being late, the traffic is never so good at this hour.” She raised her hand then to dab her face to stop the few raindrops still sliding down her cheeks from irritating her too much. 

“You needn’t apologise, I’m just glad you’re here now. The waitress gave me a free refill because I told her I had been stood up.” Jaime chuckled, taking a sip of said coffee to soothe his suddenly dry throat which tore at every word. 

Brienne laughed softly, running a delicate calloused hand through her locks in attempt to dry them off at a quicker pace. “I’m glad my terrible punctuality did some good then”. 

“Me too, I don’t know how I would have ever afforded an extra cup. I suppose I would have had to sell my golden hand.” He jested, finding an unnamed sense of joy in the way the tip of her nose twitched in effort to contain her obvious mirth. 

“I suppose living in an area where the estates cost more than one soul would mean that the coffee is priced at a higher rate than my yearly income.” 

“Even higher if you have cream with it.” 

That time, Brienne bit down on her lip to prevent her amusement from slipping in the form of a laugh loud enough to be considered publicly indecent, her teeth digging into the plump flesh of her bottom lip in a way Jaime’s wished to, though her endearingly wide, slightly crooked grin could not be stopped.

“Dare I order a cup for myself?” She asked, raising her mirthful eyes to his. Jaime hastily flicked his head to the side to be rid of the long strands of hair that curled over his forehead and prevented him from taking in the sight for all its glory. 

“No need, I took the liberty to order one for you. I noticed that you don’t drink it with milk in your office so I got you a black coffee.” 

“I’m impressed at your observational skills. I suppose the real question is how many sugars you asked for.” 

Jaime grinned then, leaning forward in his seat to show off his confidence in rolling waves of smugness at her praise. “Two.” 

Brienne sniggered behind her hand, then rested her head in it when her elbow made contact with the table. “I thought you said that you wanted to get to know me better. You seem to know more than enough already.” 

“More than enough? I hardly thinking knowing how many sugars you take is enough.” 

“For me It would be.” She had a quick wit, Jaime was quickly learning, and he was enjoying this new side of her that had been locked away during their sessions as to maintain her prowess which practically hypnotised him into answering all she had to ask with all the honesty he could. 

“Well, It does not satisfy me in the least.” He took yet another sip, waiting as the waitress placed Brienne’s coffee in front of her, which she was thanked for by a thankful smile and a slight raise of her pale eyebrows. “I want to know you better. I feel naked when you look at me because I know you know more than I do about myself.” 

“You are uncomfortable with that?” Brienne asked, raising the cup to her lips with the delicacy of a well trained lady and blew on the liquid to cool it down, the steam curling around her face and disappearing into her wispy hair. 

“This isn’t a therapy session, I know what you’re trying to do.” At that she simply grinned behind her cup. “I’m not uncomfortable with it, no, I just feel like if you’re taking your own time to study me then I should be doing the same.” 

“That is my job, it’s what i’m paid to do.” 

“I’m also paying for your company. I did just buy you coffee after all.” 

Brienne’s eyebrows furrowed for a moment, then the crease in her brow smoothed over her forehead again as she took a sip of her drink. “You needn’t pay for my company, you already pay me more than you should.” 

“I pay you what you’re worth.” 

“And so I suppose i’m worth five silver stag coins by the amount you paid for my coffee then?” Her face was as cool as it usually was, but her tone conveyed just how pleased she was. She knew she had won, and Jaime couldn’t help but laugh. 

“If I don’t manage to drag anything out of you tonight then at least i’ll walk away knowing that Brienne Tarth knows how to end an argument.” He joked with a fond crinkle at the corners of his eyes, watching her bite down on her lip once again with her canines. 

“Evenne.” She said after a moment, to which he tilted his head in question. “Brienne Evenne Tarth. That’s my full name. It rhymes in a way that’s embarrassing, I know.”

Jaime could do nought but smile, a certain warmth pooling in the bits of his belly where he was sure there were doves fluttering their obnoxious wings around. He would admit that at first, Jaime did not trust Brienne with the information regarding his true self when they had first met. He had never trusted many people in his life, and Brienne was a stranger who was being paid to ask about how he was feeling and how everything was going, but over time he had learnt that she was not like his sister who prayed upon his vulnerabilities, or his father who would scold him for every emotion that was not strength. She was simply Brienne, and Brienne was so loyal and kind and trustworthy, everything a good person should be, and so eventually he opened up to her. The fact that she was doing the same with him was worth more to him than any sum of money he had been offered for his art. She trusted him. 

“Evenne?” He asked, resting his face in the palm of his left hand whilst his prosthetic rested in front of him, his eyes directly focused on the blushing woman across from him. “I have not heard that name before. It very unique.” 

“It was my mother’s name.” Brienne explained, tracing the rim of her cup with her painted index finger. “My father decided it was only right for me to have her name, she died when giving birth to me. He often calls me his Evenstar; a gift from the Seven.” 

“It’s beautiful.” Jaime complimented quietly, noticing her downward gaze into the swirling depths of her cup. She was not sad, that much was clear, but there was a fondness in her voice which held such delicacy that he did not wish to break.” 

“It is. She was a beautiful woman. I wished as a child that I looked more like her, i have more of my father’s features, but I do have her eyes, and her name.” 

“Your eyes are certainly striking.” He offered, nodding his head in affirmation. Brienne’s flush covered her cheekbones, matching both the colour of her silk outfit and her lipstick. She was all red, and for that Jaime was thankful. He needed an alternative way of looking at the colour when it had plagued most of his life. 

“So i’ve been told. It happens that blue is my favourite colour as well, i often wonder if the compliments my eyes receive are the reason why.” 

“Very deep thinking. Have you ever thought of becoming a therapist?” Jaime jested, drawing yet another laugh from her. He did not realise how starved he was for that sound until he had heard it for the first time. 

“Once or twice.” Brienne humoured in return, a ladylike giggle spilling out of her lips as they parted to sip her coffee again. 

Jaime could have sworn he saw a glint or something in her eyes, though weather it were there natural crystallised sparkle, or whether it was a gaze that was usually reserved for a love interest, he could not be certain. 

“Can I ask you something?” He did not wait for her reply. “You don’t seem like the type of person to open up and be so casual with someone. I don’t mean to sound offending, but you aren’t doing this to find out more about me are you?” 

He was sure he already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it for himself. Brienne had never once lied to him, had always been so professional with how she dealt with his internal rage and had detailed exactly what he needed to do to help himself. She had told him what was wrong with him without the sympathy that so many others had, and it had hurt to hear but it did not hurt him to understand. Brienne was so honest, he doubted that this was a rouse for her to get to know her patient better, but after a life time of manipulation, he needed reassurance still. No matter how childlike it was. 

Brienne did not seem startled by the question, and Jaime knew she had seen it coming the moment he closed his mouth. She really was something else. 

“Of course not.” She assured simply, placing her cup down onto the tea plate once again. “Our relationship is built on trust, but it is not only you that holds such trust. I hold it too, for you. You open up to me on a weekly basis, you tell me your deepest thoughts and you even come to me at quarter past midnight to find reassurance in me.” He chuckled weakly at that. “I open up to you because I trust you, and I think that you’re a good person. I know who and who not to trust, and I knew from our first few meetings that I could put my faith in you.” 

Later that night when he and Brienne had left the coffee shop and said their goodbyes, Jaime found himself stood in front of a canvas, a brush held within the tight and yet loose grip of his golden prosthetic, covered in a red paint that was the exact shade worn on her ruby lips. His eyes were fixated on the artwork in front of him, caressing every detail of the beautifully, spectacularly crafted woman on the canvas like a lover would gaze upon his adored wife. Her silk outfit gleamed with the wet paint, her porceline skin glowing in the dim light of the room, the constellations covering her as bright as the ones that filled the very night sky above his head. 

He did not need to think of what he would call it, he had known from the moment Brienne had put all of his worries to rest: ‘A moment of falling in love.’ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that Brienne doesn’t have a middle name but I really wanted to make a reference to the Evenstar and i thought this was a perfect way to do it :)


	4. road trip

The next time Jaime saw Brienne, it was for the reason he had been meeting with her for the past year, for which he was grateful. Although instead of finding himself sat in her pristine leather chair with Brienne observing him from afar, he was currently staring out of a passenger window in her car whilst she drove down the freeway. 

Since the previous Friday, Brienne had been on his mind more often than not; her face had lit up in the dark cavern that contained his even darker thoughts and giving him a sense of hope that he was so unfamiliar to it took him some hours of evaluating to finally give into it. He briefly wondered if all he had been feeling for her was merely the consequence of having nobody but Tyrion in his life for the longest time, that he was falling faster than he should have because she was just being kind to him, which he was unaccustomed too. The slightest bit of attention he got felt like so much compared to what Jaime was used to, and he was more than happy to indulge in it. But soon, he had come to the conclusion that what he felt for Brienne was true, and it was truer than all he had ever known. 

“Where are we going?” Jaime asked for what must have been the fifth time in the hour, watching the trees roll by in blurs, but Brienne’s patience did not waver, she simply smiled. 

“You’ll see soon enough.” 

It had been her idea to take this road trip for the days session and Jaime had been all too willing to follow where she lead, for wherever she lead him there was always light. 

He had not been in the best mood, he scarcely ever was, but there was always a hint of happiness within the depths in the fern green of his eyes these days because he had reason for it now. A new passion had arose within his paintings, he had even been using his prosthetic as of recent days to create the kind of pieces he had been unable to for years now. Brienne had been the centrepiece for many of them, whether they were of her face or had her hidden inspiration behind them, so Jaime tried his upmost best to reflect her own magnificence onto the canvas. 

“Do you take all of your clients to where we’re going?” He asked, more curious than anything else. Jaime was aware that Brienne did not socialise all that much, she had told him so that night at the cafe, along with the fact that in her spare time she trained in fencing. It had surprised him at first, but when such information had been revealed, he made sense of it almost immediately. The strength of her arms had to come from somewhere, as did her grace.

“Not all of them. I’m bringing you up here to help calm you, it’s why I asked you to bring a canvas and paints with you.” 

“Are you going to be taking part in the artistry too, my lady?” Jaime asked, a grin curling at the edges of his lips at her eye roll beneath her long lashes that were made of fine golden thread. He had taken to calling her as such when Brienne had told him she attended an all Ladies school back on her home isle. 

“Only if you stop calling me that. I don’t know how to paint, I’ve never had a hand for the delicacy of it, but I thought there was no use in me simply sitting around and watching you.” 

“And why not? I’ve been told I’m very pretty to look at.” 

“I can assure you that you won’t be the prettiest sight there.” 

“Of course I won’t be, not with you there. My lady.” 

Brienne shook her head, though Jaime could see the mirth hidden in those deep waters full of every shade of blue he knew and the blush that tinted her cheeks. “Be quiet, or i’ll drive you home.” 

Jaime chuckled in response, allowing his eyes to sweep over her whilst she remained focused on the road ahead of her as she bit down on her bare lip. 

Surprisingly, she was not wearing silk today, but Jaime was not much disappointed at it despite the minimalist, yet elegant, style of clothing she had chosen today. Tucked into her high-waisted beige trousers was a white, ribbed turtleneck jumper that contrasted with her pale skin to a staggering degree. Instead of the usual milky shade of her flesh, it now seemed more warm toned than anything else, which only made the freckles scattered across her face that much more of an appealing sight. Brienne never wore much jewellery, if any at all, but occasionally Jaime would see her wearing a golden necklace which hung a merged sunburst and moon pendant on it, like she was today, and it hung around the long column of her throat perfectly. At first, he had thought nothing of it, but after their talk on Friday he was beginning to think it was symbolic of something. 

“Where did you get that necklace?” Jaime asked, tilting his head to the side, swiping away the tendrils of hair that curled over his eyes at the movement. 

“My father gave it to me for my tenth birthday. It’s to represent the highborn house sigil of our ancestors.” 

“Interesting.” He murmured to himself, Brienne’s eyes darting to him for a second before they focused back on the road. “Your home isle doesn’t happen to actually be Tarth, does it?” 

“It does.”

“Lady Tarth.” Jaime laughed, taking pleasure in the smile that overcame her features. “Your ancestors used to own the island, didn’t they?” 

“They did.” Brienne nodded. “We still do own a lot of the land, it’s been gifted to every descendant of our family.“ 

“I should have known. Why else would you have been sent to a school for ladies?” 

“I am not a true Lady, despite what you call me.” She argued with a firm shake of her head. “I never have been.” 

“You sure do act like one though.” 

“I’ve never felt like one.” The way she said it, the way her hands tightened on her steering wheel until her knuckles turned an icy white, and the way that although her face remained as calm and collected as ever her eyes managed to betray her, Jaime knew he should drop the matter. For now. There was much more to her to be discovered yet, and he did not wish to rush the process. 

“Are we nearly there yet, my lady?” He simply asked after a moment of silence, the nickname slipping from his lips without a moments thought. Thankfully, she did not take it as an insult or a way to mock her, rather in good humour as her mouth twitched once again into a soft grin.

“Soon, my lord.” 

——

“It’s certainly beautiful.” 

“Did you doubt my judgement?” 

“Of course not, I simply questioned it.” 

Brienne had been more than right when she had said this place was beautiful, and Jaime had been a fool to think otherwise. 

They were stood on a cliff edge looking out over the sea, sunbeams cascading down through the sky and reflecting on the water in a way that made the ripples on the surface look as though they were made of the finest crystals. In the distance, Kings Landing was visible in all of the glory Jaime had forgotten it beheld having lived there his whole life. From their position, the ancient ruins of the castle which had once stood proudly on top of the tallest hill was visible, the sandstone it was made of gleaming warmly with the caress of the sun above. From afar, it looked every bit the fortress it was all of those years ago, and for once Jaime was awestruck by the sight of it. 

“I thought you would like it.” Brienne said from beside him, stood close enough to his side for him to see her satisfied expression from the corner of his eye. “You mentioned once that you were bored of seeing the same things everyday, that everything you saw held a memory you didn’t want to remember. Well, I thought it appropriate to give you a new perspective on the only home you have known. There’s beauty in it still.”

Jaime was sure that Brienne had never seemed more beautiful before that moment. The sea breeze blew back her white-blonde hair, it’s fine tendrils curling around her face and framing her angular features more than it usually did. Her height next to him was almost comical, especially as she stood in shoes that added at least three inches onto her, but Jaime could not find it in him to care that he had to crane his neck up to see her, for seeing her from any new perspective struck him with more awe than even the sight in front of him. 

“You have an artists mind.” Jaime smiled, closing his eyes as the pleasant sensations of the cool air whipped his long hair back and out of his face, tenderly smoothing over his skin in a lovers caress. 

“And you have an artists touch. Set up your canvas, I think that it is time for me to see just how skilled you are.” 

“Only if the lady is to sit beside me and accompany me in showing off her own skills.” 

Brienne turned her head to him then, tilting it downward to smile crookedly at him, her wide and nude lips parting to show gleaming teeth. “If it pleases you.” 

Jaime had never taken the time to paint basic scenery, he had always focused on the sketching of a single thing as to accentuate it with details that could not be seen by anyone but him. He had crafted pieces that had brought men and women to tears with the poetic and dark nature behind it, the angry brush strokes and the bold colours meant to make anyone flinch with the radiating waves of unholy passion. But today, he truly let himself free of all the anger within, all of the cruel and harsh memories endured within Kings Landing and focused on the beauty of it from afar, like Brienne had suggested he do. 

He sat near the edge of the cliff, his canvas situated on a small easel he had brought with him after Brienne had texted him saying that he would need such things. After his curiosity had been struck, he had elected to bring enough supplies that he could not carry them himself, and had to ask for Brienne’s assistance upon arriving at her offices to unload the utensils from the back of the Uber. Still, even as he sat, he realised that in order to paint such a landscape he would need much more than what he had brought with him; he would need his other goddamn hand. 

“Might I ask you to lend me your hand for a moment?” Jaime asked, turning his head towards Brienne. She had her long legs raised up and her sketchbook leaning against them, biting down on the tip of her tongue as she concentrated thoroughly ontransferring the sights in front of her onto the paper. Managing to tear her intense gaze away at the sound of his voice, she tilted her head to the side, a small frown creasing her brow. 

“Was that a pun?” 

“What brilliant observation talents my lady has.” 

Despite the sarcasm, Brienne simply set her pencil and paper down and shuffled closer to him, careful not to dig her heels into the grass as she did so. It was this kind of close proximity that Jaime craved, and he felt a sense of relief settle in his gut when he felt her presence more prominently than before. 

“What can I help you with?” She asked, taking a spare paintbrush for herself and twirling it around her long fingers like it were an old friend of hers. “Yours already looks better than whatever I could hope to do, I don’t want to ruin anything.” 

Jaime watched as her eyes darted over the canvas, lowering her head a little so that she could see the piece better. Of course, she had to lean over him to do so, and Jaime was suddenly mesmerised by the long milky skin of her neck that was exposed where her turtleneck collar ended. He was completely enthralled by the way the muscles of her back rippled under the tight-fitting material of her jumper, and the delectable sight of her pants tightening around her waist whilst she bent forward and giving her more curve than she really had. He was not aroused, he couldn’t find himself to be at such a beautiful sight. She seemed almost to pure to be thought of in such a way, and so Jaime banished all thoughts of her in such a manner away from his mind and into the breeze, blowing them gently away. 

Jaime coughed before he spoke, his mouth dryer than it ought to be. “If you could guide my hand in a straight line across the canvas, that would be much appreciated.” 

“Have you tried using your right hand?” She asked softly, though obliged his wishes and enclosed her own hand over his left tightly to maintain the pressure needed to draw what was asked. 

Jaime did not seize to notice the way she had worded herself, she did not refer to it as a prosthetic, nor an ‘alternative hand’, as he had heard it being called before. Being a therapist, Jaime knew all of her words were chosen with reasoning at a quick pace, and he was more than grateful that she had not mentioned his disability. It made him feel more human, especially with her calloused palm wrapped around his own rough hand. 

“I have,” He admitted, his eyes focused on the canvas as she manually dragged his hand down slowly so that the brush glided in the elegant straight line he had been hoping for. “But I wasn’t concentrating as much as I am now, it just sort of... happened. I didn’t even realise I was using it until I was finished.” 

“And how did you feel afterwards?” Brienne hummed in response, glancing at him behind her lightly coloured eyelashes before returning her gaze to the painting. Jaime didn’t fail to notice how she had moved closer to him. How could he when he could now smell the intoxicating sweet cinnamon scent of her body spray? 

“I was shocked.” He replied, moving his hand to another spot on the canvas so she could guide his hand down yet again. “Mostly at the fact I couldn’t remember what happened. It occurred in a fit of passion, before then I didn’t even know I could hold a brush with this damn thing.” 

“What were you painting?” She asked, her dainty fingers - much stronger than they looked - gliding his hand down. 

_You_. 

It is what he wanted to say, but of course, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. 

“Something beautiful.” Jaime elected for instead, a compassionate smile painting his lips as delicately as the way the brush held in their two hands glided across the textile. If Brienne noticed, or felt his affectionate eye on her concentrated face, she did not let on.

“Then you must try it here. Not many things are more beautiful than such a setting.” 

Jaime could name a few, each one beginning with her name, but instead, her shook his head. “I cant, I wouldn’t know where to start-“ 

“I’ll help you.” Brienne did not wait for a reply, she simply stood and walked to sit on his opposite side next to his right arm, shuffling until they were joined at the shoulder; her broad one against his, her strong arm pressing into him in such a way it shocked him how gentle she could be when she held so much strength. 

Carefully, she helped settle the brush within the grasp of his prosthetic when he moved it through the power of the wires attached to his nerves, and positioned it firmly between his first and second finger, resting on his two others with his thumb strengthening the hold. 

“There we go.” She whispered, to herself most likely. It was then she took his right hand in her left and helped guide it to the canvas. “Where would you like to start?” Brienne looked up at him then, those eyes of the the finest azure with an innocence and understanding that made his lips part to let out a shaky breath he did not realise he had been holding. 

“Anywhere is fine.” Jaime managed to breathe out. He was sure he looked more awestruck than a man waiting at the alter for his lady to walk down the isle, but yet again Brienne did not question him about it. Nor did she mention his blown pupils, the fern green surrounding in the iris almost completely gone, along with his ability to do much else but stare in admiration for this woman. 

Dear God, he was falling much faster and harder than he thought plausible for himself, and even though he could do nothing to stop it, he did not mind. Not one bit.

“Thank you for bringing me here.” He murmured, enchanted by her gentle hold as she aided his prosthetic across the canvas as if it were nothing but an ordinary, working limb. 

“You’re welcome. I’ve quite enjoyed our road trip too.” Her crooked smile and crinkled nose was nothing short of a masterpiece, even prettier than the painting they collectively crafted until he found enough confidence to take the brush himself and allow it to move like it were second nature, like it had years ago. 

Jaime had never believed in miracles before then. But as he watched himself move his hand like he had never lost it in the first place, he realised that the Gods had bestowed one upon him, and she was as beautiful as a guardian angel should be. 


	5. sound

Jaime had lived in silence for the past four years. His home had become his prison and his mouth had been sewn shut by his own self-loathing and taught ideals that it was better to stay quiet than to speak words of weakness. Of course, he would let words slip from his lips when he told his doctor how his stump had been feeling, when he called up the cab company to ask for someone to pick him up and drive him around, and when Tyrion invited himself over to catch up and complain together about their dysfunctional family. But he was never able to bring himself to speak _out_. 

It had been Tyrion who had suggested a therapist to him, and it had been Tyrion who had booked his first appointment with Brienne. Apparently she was the best in Kings Landing, very highly sought after and very highly recommended by those struggling as much as he. Jaime was reluctant to go, he did not wish to talk about how he was feeling with somebody who knew absolutely nothing about his life, who hadn’t the slightest idea what demons haunted his daydreams and his nightmares and from what trauma they had been born from. He had coped without expressing his thoughts so far, he did not need a therapist to advice him, and he especially did not need one more person prying into his life. But Tyrion had paid good money for the first session, and Jaime was silently aware of how badly his own self-loathing was effecting his little brother. He forced himself to attend. 

She had not been what he was expecting in the slightest, but Jaime was enthralled from that moment on, completely enchanted by the unique way she had been crafted at the hands of the high Seven. How they had purposefully added such strength to her and yet had gifted her hands delicate enough to hold raindrops, they had dyed her hair such a shade of blond that her skin paled to in comparison, and they had moulded her features to be angular and somewhat irregular, but it seemed her eyes were the Gods most precious creation. Being an artist, Jaime had always found such beauty in the abstract, and he had seen such perfection in her instantly. 

During that first session, Brienne had sat opposite him, her own voice filling the silence between them, encouraging to open his mouth and speak. He did not. She had asked him if he would like some water, and to that he replied, but when she had asked him if he was feeling okay, he had sewed his lips up once again. If he chose to admit to her just what he was feeling, sounds of weakness would emit from his lips in the form of depressing confessions he thought sinful to announce into the world.

“Mr Lannister,” She had said then, her stare as intense as the blue of her eyes, yet as soft as sad music. “If you don’t get everything off your chest, you will never be able to breathe.” 

“What if I don’t want to?” He has asked, the void of any emotion, as he mostly always was. 

“That’s why i’m here.” 

And was always was. Always there, to talk to and to rant at, to give him the support he needed to be able to breathe fresh air again. It was because of Brienne he was able to speak, he was no longer silenced and was no longer confined by the ideals of strength Cersei and Tywin had poisoned him with. He felt comfortable with himself, he had accepted that he did not feel okay, and Brienne had taught him that it was okay. 

It was nightfall when he appeared at her door two nights after their session on the cliff side, his fists pounding on the door with a desperation that seemed all too intimidating, but he paid it little mind. His head swirled, the tornado which had been caused by swirl of too many bad memories scattering around his head blowing all rationality away from his mind. 

“Jaime?” Asked a voice, startling him out of his chaotic reverie. He hadn’t realised the door had opened. Brienne stood there, looking every bit as worried as she had been when he turned up out of the blue with red paint staining his clothes. Something about his anger was even more frightening, and he could sense it radiating from her. She was not scared of him, but scared for him. 

“Can I come in?” Jaime asked gruffly, motioning to the door with the only hand he could manage it with for the moment. 

She did not question him, not as he sat down on her couch in the same position he had done a few nights prior, and not as she sat right next to him as she had done on the hilltop. 

Jaime had come to her that night after an unexpected confrontation with his sister, who had appeared at his door with a scowl painted on her lips in a shade of red that made her seem too much of the lioness he saw in his nightmares. He had told her to leave, she had barged in. He had tried to block her, but she pushed her way past into his studio and examined all his artistry. All the pieces of Brienne. Cersei had called him a fool, and had said that if the woman in the paintings was anything as ugly as she was on canvas then she had to be euthanised. She even had the nerve to laugh. 

“Aren’t you going to ask me how i’m feeling?” Jaime spat, without meaning to of course. The pent up anger in his body had both his left hand and prosthetic shaking, his fists clenching dangerously. Underneath the tendrils of long golden hair that fell over his downward facing head, his eyes blazed, drilling holes into whatever he stared at. It is why he did not look at Brienne, he did not want to scare her. 

“This is no therapy session,” Brienne murmured from beside him, his position on her couch causing his neck to strain from where it hung loosely on his shoulders, his gaze as hard as the wooden floor he was staring at. “You came here because you need my help, and I am more than willing to give it to you. But I need your cooperation, Jaime.” 

Jaime breathed in, his lungs protesting the action as if trying to prevent his pain from ending it all together. He exhaled. “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t right, I shouldn’t have disrupted you again. But I didn’t want to see anybody else.” 

“Then talk to me. Allow me to help you.” 

He hesitated a moment, the curl of his scowl softening at her gentle tone. She was not _her_. She was not Cersei. She would help him. 

Just thinking of his sister sent him spiralling back in his mind to the previous hour with a seethe hissing its way through his clenched teeth. Cersei had stood in his house like she owned it, examining his work with that nasty scowl which had made home on her pretty features all those years ago. How dare she insult his work. How dare she insult Brienne. 

“_Get out!” Jaime yelled, the crack in his voice masked only by the fire crackling in his fern green eyes like a wildfire igniting a forest. _

_Cersei took a step back, having not expected such an outburst from her twin, not in her presence. Before the accident, she had kept him as close as she could, had kept him to herself without the intention of allowing him to part from her embrace without scarring him with the drag of her claws through his flesh which she had dug into him to prevent his leave. But now, he was as unstable as she had assumed, and Cersei knew that it was because he would not let her into his life again. _

_“Jaime,” She cooed, her voice dripping with a concealed sickly sweet venom. “Let me help you-“ _

_“I don’t need your help.” He seethed, his finger pointing intensely towards the door. “Leave.” _

_“Yes, you do, my brother. My sweet twin, let me-“ _

_“OUT!” _

_The slam of the door on her way out shook him to the core causing a full body shudder to wrack through him, paralysing him until he caught a glimpse at the woman in the painting hung on the wall that Cersei had not seen to be as truly gorgeous as he. Then, only one thing occupied his mind: Brienne._

Brienne. 

The anger seemed to melt away faster than it had come about at the simple reminder of her. A sigh fell from his lips, curling around the air in front of him before dissipating. The warmth that radiated from her sat next to him filled his body, extinguishing the fire that had previously burned and churned his gut. 

“I know you will help me. You always do.” He whispered, his ridges shoulders slumping with the loss of the anger in him, only to be replaced by the overwhelming sadness of loss. “I need help. 

He had never admitted it aloud. It felt as freeing as it did daunting, and tears pooled at the waterline of his eye like a tide ready to crash against a shore and spill over. 

“That’s okay.” Brienne assured, wrapping him up in the gentle cradle of her strong arms, holding him to her as the tears started to fall freely down his cheeks, silenced only by biting down on his tongue. “It’s okay to need help. That’s why I’m here. Talk to me.”

Her arms were physically as strong as any knights, and they felt just as protective too. Jaime’s heart stuttered in his chest, though all feelings for the woman he was wrapped up in could not be felt, not with the emptiness draining all life from him until he was simply an empty shell of the man he wanted to be for her. Instead, he sunk into her, his head dropping to her shoulder after being unable to hold it up any longer, and he allowed himself to be cared for without letting the worries of anything outside her arms torment him.

”I dont know what normal is.” He said into her shoulder, his hands coming up to grasp both of her broad shoulders for the support he so needed. “My life before the accident was shit, and now it’s even worse. I don’t know what it’s like to feel happy with myself because I don’t think I truly ever have been. I am my father’s puppet and my sisters toy to play with when she’s bored. I’ve never been my own person, and with all of this...” He paused, swallowing down shakily. “With all of this it’s hard to find myself. I cant even feel myself. I’m so lost, and I don’t know the way out of my misery.”

Jaime had not cried in years, but whilst wrapped up in her embrace with his head pressed into her neck, her hand resting on the top of his long hair, he did not allow himself to be quiet any longer. He did not need to be muzzled with Brienne like the ill behaved dog he had been treated like his whole life, she would never judge him, and it was after that reminder he finally allowed himself to cry. 

“It’s okay.” Brienne whispered. “I’m here for you.” 

His cry was a painful sound, but at least it was not silence. She held him through it all, and he held her back just as tight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little shorter than the previous chapters, it’s been a chaotic day and i’m sorry about that! I hope you still enjoy reading though, and tomorrow I should be able to provide a longer written work :)


	6. kids

Jaime woke in the early hours of the morning to sound of a sizzling grill and the smell of breakfast drifting through the air to create a trail he assumed he was to follow. Lifting his head from the pillow he had been resting on with a yawn that shook his entire body, he pushed the woollen blanket down off his body and lifted his left hand to rub at his bleary eyes that had not yet focused on the surroundings around him. 

The couch had been a comfortable enough bed for the night, his only regret being the headache that began to make itself known at the very back of his head and crept forward until it swarmed him from all corners. His bones ached with the effort whilst he lifted himself up, wincing at the valiant protest his head made by screaming at him to lay back down, though all Jaime heard was a high buzzing sound. After running a hand through his hair to push it away from his face, he sat still for a moment, just allowing his gaze to wander around the room he had been resting in to examine and focus on the smaller details. 

Brienne’s house was as tidy and as well organised as she was, though it was no surprise to Jaime, nor was the colour scheme. Her walls were painted in a royal blue that was lightened by the copper and golden decorations which accented the room with a certain dim glow that made it seem more homely than even his own house. Everything about Brienne was precise, and her decor was no different. Not a thing seemed out of place, not the direction of which the wool on her rug was facing, or the tv remotes which were placed side-by-side at the very edge of the coffee table, and Jaime suddenly felt a little self conscious that he were the one thing in the room that stood out amongst the cleanliness as if infecting it with his messy sheets and wrinkled clothing. 

Taking a further look after swinging his legs off the side of couch to dig his socked feet into the comfort of her rug, he noted that an sufficient amount of photo frames were mounted on her walls. They were scattered around on dark oak shelves and tables, giving her room more colour with their gleaming copper frames, all of which were matching and placed at what seemed to be a perfect two inches away from one another. The closest one to him was placed on the coffee table facing him, and although the glass containing the picture had been well polished, he could not contain himself and so reached out to pick it up, his thumb prints immediately imprinting on the glass. 

Jaime couldn’t help his small chuckle at its contents. 

Brienne looked as though she were no more than two years old with her vibrant blue eyes that seemed so much larger on her young and innocent, brightly smiling face and her short blonde hair that was tied up into pigtails at both sides of her head. A man crouched next to her, and judging by his burly arms the grin that matched Brienne’s in present time, Jaime safely assumed that it were her father that was embracing the little girl in the picture with a gaze of love in his light blue eyes that only a father could pull off. 

Jaime didn’t realise that he too was smiling and swiping his thumb tenderly across the picture in the frame. 

“I still remember that day.” Brienne said from behind him, causing him to flinch at the shock of the noise that his head had not been prepared for. A burst of pain shot through his mind, stars that had previously not been visible in his line of sight suddenly distorting his vision. 

“Sorry,” He gritted out, his golden hand raising to cradle his head as he placed the picture frame down where he had found it. “I didn’t mean to snoop.” 

“You needn’t apologise.” After rounding to the front of the couch, Brienne sat down on the cushion next to him, one of her long jean-clad legs folding underneath her, the silk of her camisole flowing loosely over the waistband. “I wouldn’t have put all of these pictures up If I was expecting everybody to ignore them.” 

Jaime looked over at her then, his gaze immediately dropping to the the cup of water held in her hand along with a plate which held what looked like bacon and egg on toast. He cocked a single eyebrow, the crease of pain in his forehead deciding not to seize. “You made me breakfast?” 

“I wasn’t going to let you starve. I thought you might need some aspirin too, I know that falling asleep whilst crying can have a heavy effect in the morning.” She said, nodding down to the pills resting next to the food.

Jaime groaned deeply, covering his face with the one hand that he could, shaking his head in regret as slowly as he could to prevent more pain. “I forgot about that. I’m sorry about last night, I didn’t mean to cause you such hassle.” 

“Don’t be.” Brienne assured, offering the plate to him after placing the cup on a coaster in front of him on the table. “I’m used to it.” 

Peeking out from under his hand, Jaime sighed and took it away when he noticed the food, unable to ignore the smell which had his stomach grumbling and churning with the need to devour something. He vaguely remembered that he had not eaten since breakfast the previous day, having been working all through the afternoon and disrupted by Cersei’s visit that had made all other thoughts scramble from his mind. 

“Thank you.” He murmured, holding the place on his lap. Suddenly, he smiled, tiredly, but there were traces of innocent happiness hidden in his dimples. “You cut it up for me.” 

“I wasn’t sure whether or not you would be comfortable using your right hand with company, so I thought I would simply save you the effort.” He needn’t look at her to know her cheeks were flushed, but he did anyways, just to satisfy his craving for it. 

“It never seizes to amaze me how thoughtful you are.” Jaime managed to stop her from arguing when she opened her mouth to speak. “And don’t give me that ‘it’s my job’ excuse. It’s not your job, It’s just who you are.”

Brienne ducked her head momentarily to fight back a smirk, the tops of her cheeks glowing in the dim light of the sunrise which was beginning to stream slowly through the windows, illuminating her as if she were the goddess of the sun herself. 

“It’s my father’s doing.” She revealed, looking towards the picture that he had been holding only a minute prior, and she reached out to put it back into its original place, seeming unsatisfied with his own positioning. “He always said that if your heart is for loving then your mind is for helping other people love themselves.” 

“My father was nothing like that.” Jaime scoffed, muffled slightly by the remnants of food in his mouth that he had been chewing on whilst she spoke. “When me, Cersei and Tyrion were children he would send us away to different nannies and careers since he was too busy to take care of us himself. Tyrion was so young that he thought Nanny Alysa was his mother.” 

There was a small pause for silence in which Brienne simply stared at him, seeming unfazed. But of course she was, she heard stories like this every day from different people more troubled than he. But Jaime had never mentioned his childhood, only skimmed over the basics. It wasn’t because he didn’t trust Brienne, only that he didn’t trust his own mind not to tumble when too many memories were recalled and too many familiar faces infiltrated his nightmares once again. 

“He always hated Tyrion,” He carried on, calmly at that. “Our mother died birthing him, and father was never the same after that, not that he was much better before her death either. I tried my best to look after my little brother, but Cersei hated him too. Couldn’t stand the sight of him, and even at a young age she would drag me away from him and his nasty words to him. I remember once, me and Cersei were 12, Tyrion was 6, and whilst me and him were playing I accidentally tumbled and cut my cheek on the corner of a table. Cersei found us, blamed Tyrion immediately, called him a vile beast, and slapped him. I was so afraid that she would do the same to me If i said anything that I simply let it happen.” 

Suddenly, he felt the need to be in Brienne’s arms again, like he had been last night before he passed out. He wanted to feel the steady beat of her heart against his chest as she pressed his body into her, close enough that he could smell her cinnamon scent still on his clothes. He wanted to enclose his arms around her waist and remain there until all of his troubles melted away and all that was left were thoughts of Brienne. But of course, he didn’t ask it of her. 

“You know,” Brienne began after a moment, leaning back against the back of the chair with one of her arms bent over the top of it to hold her face in her palm. “I think the best way to go forward with our professional relationship is to not be so professional about it.” 

His heart stuttered to a stop, his blood stopped flowing, and the food he had been eating could have been choked on had it not already been half way down his throat. “In what- what way you do mean?”

Jaime stuttered, she couldn’t seriously be suggesting- 

“No more office sessions, no more formal greetings. You’re obviously much more comfortable in settings such as this, and I’m more than happy to have you over more frequently and make you breakfast or dinner should it be easier for you to talk.” 

So she want suggesting what he thought. Jaime cursed the Gods for getting his hopes up, and then himself for insinuating something completely too improper. 

“Perhaps you’re right.” He nodded, coughing awkwardly behind his hand to allow himself a moment to blow over his initial thoughts. “But may I make a suggestion first?” 

“Of course.” 

“We don’t meet up as a therapist and a client. We meet up as friends. I don’t want to be greeted with a handshake and leave with one. I’ll still pay you of course, every Thursday as usual. I think i’ve learnt that I feel a lot calmer when i’m with you and you feel more like...” He paused, then closed his eyes momentarily. “Like a friend than a therapist. I don’t have many, and although you may not consider me one, you’re certainly more than just your professional title to me. I’d like to expand on that.” 

For an awfully long second, she did not respond. The silence consuming the room was almost as deafening as the ringing in his ears. He was all too used to situations like this, but he had to remind himself that Brienne was neither his father or Cersei, she was simply her. Wonderful, thoughtful, kind Brienne Tarth. She would not judge him. 

“You’re my friend.” It was said so softly, so surely, and Jaime was sure his heartstrings were trying to strangle his heart with the sheer intensity of emotions that coursed through his veins in such a pleasant way that stars now burst behind his eyes for reasons other than his headache. “Of course you’re my friend. I don’t just let any of my clients sleep on my couch, nor do I cook them breakfast.” 

He chuckled at the teasing tone her voice had taken on, aware that the emotions shining in his eyes were probably all too affectionate whilst being directed towards someone who was not his lover. Jaime almost tricked himself into thinking that the same gaze was reflecting in her eyes of blue azure, but he was sure his own admiration was blinding him. 

“Well, my lady,” He smiled. “Do you agree?” 

“Only if you also agree never to call me that again.” 

“Very well, my lord.” 

“You’re a fool.” Brienne laughed, but it was not her usual giggle that could be contained by the palm of her hand and that floated delicately around the air like a titter from a little girl. It was a loud sound that pushed its way past her lips in a single sudden burst, the kind of laugh that emitted from one person and caused a chain reaction of others. Jaime almost recoiled at first, it was not a sound he had expected to emit from Brienne with her usual grace and elegance, but at the same time it was so very _her_. It was unique and it was as strong as the seas in her mirthful eyes were stormy. 

Jaime grinned to himself, his shoulders shaking with a silent chuckle. “I believe the term is ‘court jester’.” 

“Eat your breakfast.” She instructed in a sterner voice that made him question whether or not she had seen such army days as he had, but there was a sense of joy hidden within the crinkle of her slightly crooked nose and at the curve of her plump lips. 

Eating was no problem for him, his stomach continued to growl even as it filled up with food. Usually, only having one hand to eat with was a pain, especially since it was not his strongest one in the first place, but since that day with Brienne on the cliff side where she had helped him, he had been using his prosthetic a lot more often. Still, he did not embarrass himself in front of her and he elected to use his left for now as he hadn’t quite gotten the hang of it yet. 

“You have a lot of pictures.” Jaime observed once he had finished in relative silence, apart from the faint voices emitting from the TV, the glow of the screen further lighting up the room in a way that the warm hues of the early morning sun couldn’t quite do. “You’re fond of them?” 

“I am.” Brienne nodded her head, bringing both of her legs up onto the chair to make herself more comfortable, having not wanted to be so laid back with him earlier on. It did not seem proper in company to be seen as so lazy, hence why she had gotten dressed and ready before nine o’clock. But if Jaime was comfortable

enough, then why shouldn’t she be? “My friends and family are very dear to me.” 

Jaime had the sudden urge to see himself in one of those golden frames of hers, mounted in a position that would not go unseen by anyone. He wished to see himself stood next to her, his arm around her waist and hers around his shoulders, holding him close. To see their smiles directed to each other rather than the camera, their eyes gazing into one another’s like two oceans of different colours attempting to merge to create a landscape worthy of the Gods. They would not be kissing, but they would be happy. 

“Tell me about your childhood.” He asked suddenly, causing one of her fine eyebrows of delicate blond to raise up. “I want to know more about you.” 

“There isn’t really much to tell,” Brienne shrugged, running her hands up her freckled arms to warm herself up, her eyes visibly searching for something to say. “It was a normal childhood for the most part. My father owns Evenfall Hall, it’s the historical landmark of Tarth which has been passed down to us through generations, but using inheritance money he built a hotel inside of it, so we were quite wealthy. That is perhaps the only big difference between me and some other children.” 

“And what of you? What were you like?” 

“I was always shy, though around the right people I was quite bubbly. I attracted a lot of attention for reasons I wish I didn’t at the time, and so I was introverted during my teenage years. When I was sent to an all Ladies school, I didn’t fit in whatsoever, and so I decided that if I didn’t fit in with the girls then surely I would with the boys. I began fencing classes, - which I still do even now - gymnastics, rugby, martial arts, everything that I could do prove myself to be less of a lady I did, and I enjoyed it.” 

Jaime furrowed his brow, a fond little smile coming about his features. “Gymnastics? I thought that was a lady’s sport.” 

“It is, traditionally, but whatever Renly Baratheon did, I did too.”

“Renly fucking Baratheon.” Jaime snorted, shaking his head in pure amusement, his headache having dissipated due to the flood of contentment that swarmed through him. “He’s my sweet sisters brother in law.” 

“Really?” Brienne giggled behind her hand, her eyes alight. “It’s a small world.” 

“Apparently so. Tell me more!” 

And so she did. Jaime took in every piece of information he was given and locked it in a special place within his mind, missing not a single thing. Part of him wished to tell her more about his own childhood, but the air between them was so light as they smiled and laughed the morning away that he did not wish to break its beauty with his own demons of his past. Instead, he simply listened to all she had to say, latching onto the way the excited fondness enchanted her eyes when she pointed to pictures around her living room to recite a memory, or when she told him the unusual stories of how she had met her best friends, Margaery and Sansa. How she met her vile ex, Hyle Hunt, and how her gaze had turned soft at the rage within Jaime’s own expression. 

“Don’t be angry.” She had reassured, placing her hand over his to squeeze it gently before retreating. “We were just kids.” 

How he wished he still could a kid with her. Jaime was sure that if he had known Brienne earlier, if she had come into his life with as much elegance and with as much strength and care, he would be an infinitely better person than he was now. Still, he was getting there, he would be okay. With Brienne by his side. 


	7. sports

Jaime had lived alone for years now, and he was more than glad of it. Being an artist, he needed his peace and tranquility in order to work, and what he didn’t need was the constant background noises made by clumsy siblings or the faint yells of a parent. Silence was something he indulged in like somebody would a vintage wine; Jaime would sit in his studio for hours just listening to the rain falling against his windows, staring out into his garden which was surrounded by trees and bushes which had since overgrown to allow him more privacy. Sometimes he would be disturbed by the chirping of s bird from outside his bedroom window in the morning, other times it were the faint knocking of branches against the glass, not that he minded. As long as it were not a person, he couldn’t find himself to be mad. 

But there were occasional days where silence sounded too loud, where the rain was too quiet and the chirping of birds seemed non existent. Jaime lived in a large house for somebody who lived alone, but he had designed the property himself on a piece of land that was far away from any other, so creating enough sound to fill the emptiness was a challenge he went above and beyond to accomplish. He would play music loud enough to echo and bounce off the finely painted walls which held countless hours of work and detail within, and he would try his best to imagine the voices of other people rooms over. He succeeded, most of the time, and he simply settled back into his usual routine of painting, eating, sleeping, and texting Tyrion to let him know all was okay. 

He had never particularly enjoyed company, but Tyrion provided it to him anyways, unexpectedly too. Today was one of those days. Jaime was content to live in the silence of his home, listening to soft music as his brush glided in the same rhythm across the canvas in front of him, determined to work for however long he could without his wrist seizing up, and in the midst of his concentration, a knock at the door sounded. He knew automatically it was Tyrion, he was the only visitor that he had these days besides the occasional postman or window cleaner. Jaime wanted to be mad that he was disrupted, and he wanted to simply ignore the consistent knocking that began to tick in his head like a bomb ready to drive him to insanity, but he knew his brother would not leave. 

“How kind of you to open the door,” Tyrion drawled, holding out up a bottle of beer in his left hand and picking up the other one he left stood on the stone floor so he could knock with the other. “I was beginning to think that you had - God forbid - left the house for once.” 

“I was working.” Jaime grumbled, stepping aside an inch or two so Tyrion could step in. “I wasn’t expecting you.” 

“Brother, when do you ever? I could make plans with you weeks in advance and you still wouldn’t expect me on the day. You should be used to this by now.” 

“I am used to it, but sometimes I don’t appreciate the disruption.” 

Tyrion shrugged his shoulders, wiping his pristinely polished shoes on the doormat, not wanting to run the risk of having to mop the floor when he created dirty footprints throughout the house. “You don’t appreciate many things.” 

Jaime simply rolled his eyes. There was no use arguing with Tyrion, who after years of being yelled at as a child developed such a skill for debating that there was simply no way for Jaime to get a word in during. 

“Why are you here?” He sighed, following Tyrion through to the living room, which seemed to be collecting dust with the lack of use. Jaime was never one for watching TV or settling down for a quiet night in with a movie, he scarcely even used the couch for relaxing. Most of the time, Jaime fell asleep in his studio, on the floor and covered in paint with brush still in hand; his sleep schedule had never quite been right, and taking the journey up to his bed seemed like too much effort nowadays. 

“For the same reason I always am; you need human interaction. You spend so much time with yourself that i’m surprised you haven’t gone mad.” 

“I’m not always on my own.” Jaime protested, falling down onto the couch beside Tyrion, sitting down on the folded leg beneath him. Plucking one of the beer bottles from Tyrion’s hand along with his set of keys which held a bottle opener key chain to pop it open. “I do go outside, you know. I do see other people, i’ve not forgotten what they look like.” 

“You see other people, yes, but you don’t go out with them. You need to start being more social, Jaime. Being cooped up in your house all day doesn’t help your mentality.” 

“I know, Tyrion.” He muttered, taking a swig of the beer, letting the familiar fruity flavour caress his throat as it travelled down to his stomach where it settled warmly. He had missed the flavour, the relief it brought him when the sharp taste made his tongue tingle until he simply did not know what he was saying. “But I’ve been fine.” 

Tyrion watched his brother for a moment, a shock evident in those matching green eyes of his as he beheld the sight. “You’re using your right hand.” 

“I am.” Jaime nodded his head, swirling the beer slowly in the bottle with the mechanic limb, a small smile spreading on his lips. “I’ve had help.”

Brienne had helped him with his confidence in using it, going so far as to make sure he relied on it as much as he did his left. She had suggested a number of exercises for him to do on the daily to build up his nerves, admitting that she had read up on and consulted her friend Sansa, who worked as a doctor, as to what Jaime could do to gain more strength in his arm. Brienne had gone above and beyond her job as his therapist to ensure that he was comfortable with himself, and that he was making progress after four years of feeling sorry for himself and forgetting that the damn golden hand existed in the first place. Finally, he was feeling what it was like to be himself, and it was a magical, wonderful feeling. 

“Oh? Who from?” Tyrion asked, shuffling off the edge of the couch to grab the remote since he couldn’t quite reach the table, flicking on a sports channel where a rugby game was playing. 

“Brienne Tarth.” Her name felt even better than the sweet caress of alcohol in his throat, each vowel dripping from his tongue like nectar from a rose. 

“Your therapist? You two have been getting close, hm?” Jaime didn’t need to be looking at Tyrion to know that there was a suggestive gleam in his eyes, one that had been there most prominently through his teenage years where he had whored himself around to all the women who were willing to sleep with him. 

“We have. She’s been helping a lot.” 

“You sound awfully fond of her, brother mine. Have you made a move on her yet?” 

Jaime scoffed, rolling his eyes with a shake of his head in disbelief. “That’s none of your business.” 

“It doesn’t have to be, you haven’t had anyone to speak to about this and I doubt you’re about to pass on the opportunity.” 

Jaime paused, allowing the sweet honey of the alcohol to open up his suddenly clogged throat and nodded his head in agreement. Talking to Tyrion was sometimes a bore as he himself never had anything to talk about, nothing much happened in his life nowadays and so he could only really update Tyrion on his recent works and on any gallery collaborations he was planning on. But finally, he could talk to him without depressing them both with his own feelings. They could be normal for once. 

“I haven’t made a move, no.” Jaime admitted eventually. “She’s not interested in me.” 

Tyrion laughed disbelievingly. “Don’t lie to my face, she must be interested in you.” 

“I’m telling you, she doesn’t. There’s no way. Why would she?” Gods, he didn’t know admitting it aloud would be so painful. It twisted at his gut and hurt him in a way that even the blast that took his hand from him didn’t accomplish at the time. Brienne gave him a sense of hope, but some things regarding their relationship just weren’t so hopeful and he was sure that it was his luck that he fell for the one woman who didn’t love him back. The Gods had been cruel to him ever since he killed his troops commander, Aerys Targaryen, giving him the title of Kingslayer. Each passing day the curse grew and grew and this was his final punishment, one that eliminated his hope for happiness with the one person who cared for him like no other could. 

“Who wouldn’t fall for a man who looks half God and who has a tragic sob story to back him up?” 

“Tyrion,” Jaime sighed, running a hand through his hair, the feel of it as he carded through the locks reminding him of the way Brienne’s large and gentle cradled the back of his head. “She’s a therapist. Every day she deals with people who have it worse than me, sympathy doesn’t play a part in her feelings. She doesn’t seem interested, at all.” 

“Exactly, she’s a therapist,” Jaime decided not to take offence at how exasperated Tyrion sounded with him. “How many years has she been training in the profession? She’s one of the best, if not the best, in Kings Landing, I looked her up myself. She’s trained herself to dissemble, it’s her job to not show her own emotions when with clients, no matter what they are.” 

“But were friends, she said herself that we are! She took me to the cliff side during one of our sessions and sat beside me as we painted, she even got me to use my prosthetic. I can use it well enough now, she’s been teaching me over at her place. She let me sleep on her couch a few nights ago, made me breakfast, and then we talked for hours after. Not once did she give me a look, nor any indication we were more than friends. It’s all we are.” 

Jaime knew that look Tyrion was giving him. He had inherited it from their father, one of the only things that he had been cursed with. 

“You’re an idiot.” He said eventually, his mouth parting in doubt to what he just heard. “I cannot believe all of that just came out of your mouth and you think you’re just friends. I’m having trouble comprehending -“ 

“Alright, I get it.” 

“ - What utter shit that is. I bet you’ve even painted her, haven’t you?” 

Jaime remained silent, raising the bottle up to his lips to take a sufficiently large gulp of beer, trying to drown out the sound of Tyrion’s laugh from beside him. His little brother was insufferable, and when it came to the matters of his heart he did not back down. It hurt to think that Brienne didn’t care for him in the way he wanted, but it was so selfish of him to want her to care for him more than she already did. 

“You’ve painted the woman. You’re in love with her. I have half the mind to tell her myself.” 

“You wouldn’t dare.” Jaime glared, huffing as he tried to pay attention to the sport playing on the TV. 

“Wouldn’t I?” Tyrion asked, his eyebrows raised up so far into his forehead that they almost touched the golden curls that fell over his hairline. “Listen, Jaime. This has the potential to be something good for you, to make you happy, to finally get you out of this bubble you’ve been living in for years now. You may not think she likes you, but If i were you, I wouldn’t give up even the smallest chance of happiness with a woman that I love.” 

“I know.” Jaime whispered, setting his empty bottle down and sinking into his seat, his mind swirling with the emotions that his heart could not quite handle at the moment. He wanted to be happy, even if he wasn’t sure how to truly be, and Brienne had been the only one to make him forget about the turmoils he had faced and gave him memories and feelings he could not remember feeling with such intensity before. But he didn’t want to risk losing her entirely.“I’ll figure it out.” 

“Please do. I’d hate to see you miss out on this.” 

—

They had been watching the rugby game on the tv in silence for some time, the occasional disappointed groan coming from Tyrion during missed tries. Jaime had never found much of an interest in sports, though he had played a number of them when he was a child per his sisters demand, though he suddenly found a sudden passion for the Tarth Warriors. He didn’t need to wonder why. 

It was half time currently, and each time walked off the field with the Tarth Warriors leading by four, the GreyJoy Giants particularly salty as they kicked the grass during their way off the pitch. 

“That name is familiar.” Tyrion murmured when the points came up on the screen, visibly racking his brain to make a connection whilst he took a heavy swig of his own beer. “Tarth. Where have I heard that name before?” 

“My therapist. Have you already forgotten that conversation we had? I forgot what alcohol did to you.” 

“No, no. I couldn’t forget your outrageously tall moral support woman. It’s the surname. There’s somewhere else I know that name.” 

“It’s an Isle.” 

“I know, Jaime. I’ve not been living like an actual hermit crab, despite what Cersei used to call me.” 

Jaime rolled his eyes, allowing himself to sink back into the couch cushions, averting his gaze to his brother after managing to drag his eyes away from the screen. 

“Ah!” Tyrion suddenly piped up as he too decided to pay attention to the tv. “Galladon Tarth, thats where I know that damn name from.” 

“Galladon Tarth?” 

“The rugby player. The one that drowned himself.” 

Jaime raised his eyebrow and hummed with a feigned interest, focused on the screen in front of him. 

“His father was said to have carried the body from the water after jumping in from the cliffs afterwards whilst his little sister watched on.” Tyrion continued. “It was all over the news years ago, still comes up sometimes.” 

Jaime sat quietly, thinking back to when he had been examining the pictures in Briennes hours only a few days earlier. He had noticed a few of her when she was much younger and stood next to a boy with as much height as her father and as much blonde hair as she. The same smile, the same blue ocean eyes, and the same gentle gaze. Though, looking back on it now, the man didn’t seem to appear in any pictures when Brienne was older. 

“Do you think he had a relation to Brienne? Tarth is a rare surname, especially on Tarth.”

“Perhaps.” Tyrion nodded. “You should ask her. She is your therapist, but who does she talk to about her own problems? It might be good for her to talk, and for you to listen. Get to know her better, brother.” 

— 

“Brienne?” Jaime asked, breaking the comfortable silence between them as they sat as close as they could without touching. Her couch was large enough to accommodate the both of them considering their size and height, but small enough as to allow the close proximity without it seeming so forced. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Anything.” She nodded, her blue gaze sweeping over to him, those lashes of hers creating golden hues on the tops of her cheekbones, creating the illusion of blush despite it not really being there. Not that Jaime thought it was anyways. 

He had been taking liberties with Brienne over the past week after they agreed on their friendship and the progress needed to further strengthen their professional relationship, he found himself at her house more often than not, though in his defence he did not invite himself over. Brienne had called him earlier on that evening, which was a new development since she was usually one to text, and asked him if he was doing anything that night. It’s how he found himself sat on her vintage sofa with a woollen blanket thrown over his legs to prevent any cold air getting to him, even though the fireplace roared with flames that would burn if he got any closer. 

He wasn’t sure how Brienne knew, or if she actually did, but she always seemed to call when he needed her, when she was on his mind. It was something beautiful about her that made her even more special, just the idea of that intelligent mind of hers sparing thoughts of him gave him a sense of longing that was slowly beginning to consume his heart. 

“Why did you become a therapist?” It was an easy enough question to help him lead into the topic Tyrion had brought up days prior. As usual, he was taking his brothers advice, he wanted to get to know a Brienne on the same level that she knew him; in and out. He didn’t want to be obvious about it, to ask out of the blue whether her brother had died whilst she was so young. He needed to ease into it. 

Brienne did not need to think about her answer, it was something that was asked of her quite often by other patients, and Jaime could see in her neutral expression of calmness that she was not fazed. 

“I wanted to help people. I’d have loved to be a doctor, it is initially the career I wanted to choose, but when I was younger I realised that mental health was just as important as physical, and so I opted for a different path. I’m glad I did choose this one, it gives me joy to know that I’m the reason behind so many people’s newfound courage and strength in themselves.” 

Jaime almost didn’t want to go on with his questioning in fear of wiping that peaceful expression on her features away with tears that may emerge from her ocean eyes and drip down her cheeks. He wasn’t prepared to watch the slight crook in her nose twitch with an effort not to cry, or the scar above her lip tremble. But he held onto the hope that she wouldn’t cry, for he was sure the sight would break him, and he’d have no idea how to handle it. 

“You said you figured it out when you were very young,” He observed, choosing his words with tender care. “What do you mean by that?” 

“My brother, Galladon, drowned himself in the ocean surrounding the isle when I was six years old.” 

Jaime was shocked for a moment. Not at the revelation, he had been having his suspicions ever since Tyrion pointed it out, but at how she said it. Usually, her voice was as soft as the ripple of waves on a sunny day without breeze, and that’s exactly what it was now. Normal. No traces of remorse, no sadness, not even in her pretty eyes. But Jaime did not know the ins and outs of Brienne’s emotions, he didn’t know what glints in her eyes were of happiness or of sadness. Tyrion had been right; she was a master at dissembling. For all Jaime knew, she could be on the verge of tears, but he didn’t, and so he simply lowered his eyes. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” 

“You knew anyways.” 

His head shot up, his brow furrowing at the slight twitch of a singular corner of her lips. “How did you-“ 

“The questions you asked. It’s not hard to tell what information a person already knows about you depending on the types of questions they ask. I should know, i ask the same questions as you every day.” 

Jaime simply nodded his head, swallowing a small lump in his throat. He really couldn’t hide anything from this woman. It scared him, somewhat, when he thought about the potential that she knew how he felt for her. He could only thank the Gods for making her so thoughtful that she did not raise the topic if she was aware. 

“Were you close?” He simply asked, running a hand over his stubble to try and rub the embarrasses flush from his cheeks at his musings. 

“To my brother? Very.” She affirmed, turning her still formally dressed body towards him more fully. “We used to play rugby together, he always wanted to go professional and he was so happy when he did. People used to say that I looked so much like him I could be his brother. Of course, they were being cruel, but I took it as a compliment at the time. I thought everything of him.” 

Jaime knew all too well that sympathy was something hated amongst people who have had it rough, and so he pushed it down for both Brienne and Galladon and nodded his head instead. “I know you know that I know what happened,” He chuckled weakly at her look of affirmation. “But will you tell me anyways?” 

She did not stutter, nor did she pause to take a breath. “I was six, and he was eighteen. I could not tell you what happened for certain, all I remember is watching my father jump off the cliffs when he saw what was happening to save him, but by the time he had hit the water it was too late and Galladon was already dead. It was classed as a suicide, though my father didn’t tell me until much later, when I could finally understand. It’s then that I decided I wanted to be a therapist; I wanted to help people like my brother.” 

“You know,” Jaime started, looking towards his right hand and then up at Brienne once again. She was blinking more than usual, her eyes seemingly larger than they already were for a reason Jaime could not pinpoint. “You don’t have to be so careful around me. You don’t have to hold everything in.” 

Her hand suddenly gripped his, though he did not notice for a few beats as he could not feel the pressure on his prosthetic. He was instead focused on her smile; as wide as it was tender. 

“I know,” She whispered then. “We are equals, don’t feel as though I am shutting you out simply because you are my patient as well as my friend. I’m not, I have simply healed.”

“Okay.” Jaime affirmed with a nod, squeezing her hand and wishing dearly that he could feel her tender flesh beneath his fingertips. “Being healed sounds like hope.” 

“_Healing_ is hope, being _healed_ is happiness.” 

“Are you happy?” 

Brienne looked down at their entwined hands then, and Jaime’s breath stuttered in his chest. She looked up and gave him a smile that he wished would greet him at the gates of heaven. “I am now.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this prompt fill might be a big of a long shot, but i hope you enjoy it all the same!!


	8. colour

Jaime did not know how to live in colour, only how to create the illusion of it. Over the years of living in his house, he had done all he could go add more vibrancy to it, to make it seem as though he lived in a world far nicer than his own reality. Most walls were painted with murals of landscapes he wished he could see each time he opened his eyes in the morning and looked out of the windows, others were painted with detailed faces and abstract workings that he decided a canvas could do no justice to, the kind of works that no other gallery could have except for the one of his home. Colour stained his walls, but he still lived without it.

Brienne was blue. She held the rolling waves of the seas of Tarth in her eyes, she wielded empathy and calmness with the same delicacy as it took to hold water in the palm of ones hand. Blue was a colour of honour and trust, a colour that Jaime was sure in her past life Brienne had created herself with the sapphire orbs she had been blessed with. Though blue was a shade associated with sadness, of depression and loneliness, Brienne made it gleam brighter shades of hope in a way that the blue moon outshone even the yellow sun. 

Jaime had always been golden, and he hated it. With hair like it was spun from the finest threads of gold and a wealth that seemed unlimited, his life had revolved around the rich shade. Greed and power is what Jaime thought of when he envisioned the colour; the greed in which Cersei and Tywin bathed in, and the power they wield like a soldier without a general understanding of his gun. He hated it, hated the way in infested his life and still did to this day. He wished he could be blue, like Brienne. 

“You’re truly gifted.” Her voice cut through his musings, effectively banishing all thoughts of Cersei and Tywin from his mind until they were all but forgotten. Brienne was surveying some of the art that covered his wall in definitive textures that gave the background a blurred illusion, further accenting the main centrepiece of the painting in the middle. 

“I’ve been told many times.” Jaime nodded, standing beside her as his gaze drifted from her eyes to the wall. The awe in her expression was enough to lift his spirits high enough into the clouds he was sure his oxygen would run out sooner than later. 

“Because it’s true. Your abilities in art exceed many others, that i’ve seen anyways.” 

Jaime cursed himself for keening at the praise so much his cheeks flushed. “Thank you, my lady.” 

Brienne laughed.

It had been a hectic morning for him, so much so that he didn’t sleep very well because of the stress of his situation. On a whim, he had invited Brienne over to his house instead of her having to host him yet again, though at the time he did not anticipate just what work that meant for himself. His house was not a mess, he rarely used all of the rooms and so they were left in the same state they had been for months now, but that was not the problem. The problem was the paintings. 

Jaime could not remember a time where his studio had been so full of canvases, both complete and incomplete. It was embarrassing really, the amount of times he had painted Brienne in different lights that highlighted the unique features of her face, different outfits that fit her body in a way that gave of the illusion of curves. Though, the incomplete paintings outweighed the finished, for Jaime was hardly ever satisfied with what he sketched, and Brienne had to be perfect. There were some where her smile wasn’t quite crooked to the same angle, where her nose wasn’t positioned correctly, and most where her eyes did not glow in the same way against the textured skin. 

But, no matter if they were finished or not, no matter how proud he was, he could not let Brienne see them. 

The clean up had been a monumental task, he had shoved everything he could into the cupboards that were dotted around his house with as much care as he could, and those he couldn’t hide due to size he concealed under old sheets he used to protect the floor from staining. However, there was one piece he could not hide, and would not either. It was the one large canvas that he had entitled ‘A moment of falling in love’, and he had hung it alongside some of his most favoured works. Taking it down would tear him apart inside, and so he decided that leaving it up despite any consequences that may follow was the only way to come to terms with his feelings, and displaying them openly in such a way would soothe his ever questioning heart. 

“Forgive me,” Began Brienne, who stood in the middle of his hall looking already more stunning than the piece she stared at with wonder. “I have never been able to see the pain that everyone speaks of in your artwork. I don’t mean it as an insult, I was just never good at it, I can’t deduce it like I can a person. All I see is beauty. Is that wrong of me?” 

“Of course not.” Jaime could have laughed at how concerned she seemed, how her light eyebrows furrowed on her forehead in a way that made him think she was worried she had caused an offence worthy of being yelled at. “You cannot go wrong by calling something of my own work beautiful. It’s a compliment.” 

She turned towards him then, her lengthy arms folding over her chest, the long sleeves of her blue, satin off-shoulder shirt that dipped in an elegant V exposing her freckled skin and defined her strong collar bones only making her seem taller than she already was, not to mention the black jeans which seemed to extend her legs. 

“I wish I had the eye of an artist, I want to be able to see hidden meanings and the differences behind certain types of brush strokes. I don’t like not being able to observe things and see no definitive answer.” 

Jaime chuckled then, stepping closer to her and facing the painting she was referring to. “What you see simply is beauty. Not all paintings have a alternative motive behind them other than to show skill. This painting is something I did to pass time, there is no anger behind it or pain. If there was an emotion behind it, it’s simply boredom. Here,” 

Jaime motioned her over to him as he began to walk, and with a curious glance and her lips forming a frown of curiosity, she followed him, the sound of her heels clicking on his polished floors. He stopped in front of his studio, and with hesitance, he opened the doors. 

Having cleaned it of most other canvases earlier, the room was rather empty apart from his easel in the corner surrounded my numerous paint pallets, and the numerous paintings that hung on the white walls. Paintings that were replicas of ones hung in galleries, or ones that were too precious for him to ever give away. Much like the one of Brienne, which was not only the first painting he had accomplished with his right hand, but the only painting in the room that made all others seem irrelevant. She was as stunning in real life as she was on the canvas, if not more so, but Jaime did not think he could have done a more perfect piece of art dedicated to her. 

“I’ll show you the differences.” He offered, watching her slow steps into the room, her large eyes searching the room with a newfound fascination that lit up her entire face, the constellations mapped on her exposed skin gleamed in the pale light streaming through the large windows with a countryside view. She seemed unable to take everything in at once, she could not seem to focus on one thing to stare at, and so she simply stood with her lips parted and eyes darting around the room like it were the garden of Eden. 

“This is all your work?” She asked, her voice breathy with admiration. “I’ve seen your art before online, I even attended a gallery opening a few years ago with Margaery where your work was present, but I don’t remember it being so breathtaking.” 

“All mine.” Jaime smiled, shoving his hands into his pockets after tucking the long locks of hair that fell over his face after ducking his head in appreciation for the praise behind his ears. “You didn’t tell me you had seen my work before, not in person anyways.” 

“I wouldn’t have if we weren’t now friends. I couldn’t make myself to seem more of your fan than your therapist.” 

“You’re a fan of mine?” He asked, finding amusement in the way her eyes rolled in a way he was sure he saw as being fond at the smirk that curled at his lips. 

“Why wouldn’t I be? Your art is phenomenal.” 

“You’ll make me blush, my lady.” 

“Then I see no reason to stop complementing, my lord.” 

Together, they laughed softly, the sounds travelling through the air until they connected and danced together. 

“Come here,” Jaime smiled, motioning for her to come stand beside him. With her heels, he had to crane his neck upwards to watch her come closer, but he didn’t mind. In fact, he rather loved it. “Tell me what you see.” 

Brienne’s gaze travelled from his face and then to the painting in front of them both. She seemed unsure, and it was not a look that Jaime had seen on her face before. Her eyebrows were knitted together, her canine biting down on the corner of her lip and worrying it as she concentrated on trying to find some sort of deep, poetic meaning beneath the paint. 

“Don’t drill holes into it with your eyes,” Jaime chuckled with a shake of his head. “Just tell me what you see. Don’t be afraid of saying something wrong.” 

“Colour.” She said eventually, her folded arms falling to her side where they slipped into the pockets of her jeans. 

“Aye, there is a lot of colour. What can you infer from them?” Jaime watched as she stepped closer, and from where he stood watching the long length of her neck tilting itself to the side and her strong shoulders ripple beneath the thin fabric of her satin shirt, he felt self conscious that nothing he had created held such beauty. 

“There’s a lot of red, the connotations lead me to believe that there is anger in this painting. Gold too, that’s a colour that haunts you, I know that, so this pieces comes from a place of self-loathing, perhaps? Maybe it’s a deformed memory that you can’t quite remember and all you can see is red and gold.“ 

Jaime shook his head, though not as to tell her she was wrong, but in disbelief. This woman with observation skills which could challenge that of world rebound detective skills doubted herself to an extent Jaime found to be insulting. “You don’t give yourself enough credit, Doctor Tarth.” 

Brienne’s eyebrow rose, straightening her neck once again and turned towards him. “What do you mean? Did I get it right?” There was a sense of shock hidden in those calm eyes. 

“This painting was the first one I ever did.” Jaime smirked. “I think I was five. This is simply a canvas covered in red and gold paint. The only reason it’s up on my wall is because it shows my progress, and my mother helped me with it too.” 

There was a blush raising to her cheeks, glowing in contrast to her pale skin. Jaime was endeared by the sight, as he always was. The teeth worrying her lip hid the beginnings of a smile on one side, though the left corner lifted still. 

“I always have seen things deeper than what they truly are.” 

“And you still think you don’t have the mind of an artist?” He chuckled, shaking his head, his hands slipping into his black dress pants. “You just gave the prime example of it.” 

“But I wasn’t right-“ 

“You don’t have to be. Art is about inference. You may see something entirely different than what I do, but that’s the beauty of it.” 

“But there is pain in that piece, isn’t there?” She asked, her brilliant gaze steadying once again. “Maybe not when it was created, but there is now. No beauty has ever come out of something that wasn’t once painful.”

“Of course there is pain in it. There’s pain in all of these works, just as much as their is beauty.”

“But then again, no pain has ever come out of something that wasn’t once beautiful.” 

“Do you write poetry, by any chance?” Jaime inquired, his eyebrows raised in the same awe hers had been when she had entered the room. “You’re a very deep thinker.” 

“I do try-“ She stooped suddenly, her eyes growing until it seemed that they could no more, focused on something behind him. Those oceans surrounding her pupil swarmed with a range of emotions that she was usually so brilliant at hiding, and Jaime knew automatically what her gaze had settled on. 

Brienne brushed past him as she walked, her head held high, her lips parted as she beheld the sight of the painting mounted on the wall with such care that even Jaime was surprised no tears pooled in her eyes. Even the sound of her heels clicking on the floor could not drown out the racket of his blood rushing around his body at an alarming rate, and Jaime was suddenly terrified to turn around to face exactly what she was. 

“Is that me?” Her voice was quiet, though the astonished tone made itself present still. “You painted me?” 

He found no reason to lie, he doubted he could if he tried. Jaime was proud of the painting, those eyes of hers stared at him as he worked and settled his nerves when he grew stressed, gave him calmness and comfort when he felt lonely, and gave him the strength he needed when Brienne herself was not around. He saw no reason to be ashamed of it, to hide it from her view; it was a masterpiece. 

“It is,” Jaime smiled, turning on his heel to stand next to her and admire the painting for all of its glory. 

It was an exact replica of the imagine Jaime had taken in his mind that night in the cafe. Brienne sat staring at him with that painted crooked smile of hers, the red silk of her jumpsuit standing out in the red and gold of the background. Each wisp of white-blond hair had taken such precision to draw that Jaime was unsure he was able to create such a fineness with his prosthetic, but the artistry was proof of it. She positively glowed on the canvas, blurring anything on the material that wasn’t her, which was exactly what Jaime had aimed for. The red and gold in the background represented the life he had once lead, or rather followed, and when Brienne had come along she had brought light with her in the form of blue eyes and a blue heart, distorting the memories of red and gold that had once haunted him until it was only her that he dreamt of at night. 

“You’ve painted me.” She repeated, this time more surely. A laugh of disbelief spilled from her full lips, her blue painted finger tips itching to reach out and swipe across the finely finished piece until she had committed each detail to memory. “I look... _pretty_.” 

Jaime opened his mouth to speak, but all words died in his throat when her head whipped towards him, her usually calm gaze swarming with too many emotions for him to gather. 

“How have you made me look so pretty?” Her voice was thick, her throat bobbing as she swallowed the lump in her throat that Jaime thought contained either questions or words of appraisal. She did not seem mad, only shocked. 

“I painted you as you are.” Jaime explained, his lips parting at the vision in front of him. She was magnificent, and she didn’t even know it. 

That’s when it hit him, and it hit him hard enough that he almost choked on the air that swam up his throat at lightning speed and through his mouth, but instead he simply stuttered. He had not noticed before that moment, though Brienne had eluded to it before. She did not think she was pretty. 

She had mentioned that her classmates said she looked more like Galladon’s brother than sister, that all her life she did not fit in with the girls, that she had been lead to try and fit in with the boys because she thought she looked more like one. Brienne had even said when she was younger she had wished she looked more like her mother. All of her life she had been told she was more boy than girl, and Jaime finally understood the emotion in her eyes which had since pooled with unshed tears. A disbelief stemming from her sadness. 

“That’s what’s so shocking.” She whispered, shaking her head, her paling skin gleaming as bright as her blush and making the tears in her eyes sparkle. “That’s... _me_. You’ve painted _me_, and I look beautiful.” 

“Of course you do.” Jaime said, fierce enough that he had to grab her hand within his left in hopes that the electrified currents that ran through his veins would transfer to hers, so that she could see herself in his eyes. “You know, that’s the first painting I managed with my right hand. The one that I told you about. You asked me what I was painting to have been in such a state of passion I didn’t realise what I was doing, and I said that I was painting something beautiful.” 

Her breath caught in her throat, and she choked on the emotion which she was always so good at hiding. 

“_You_ were that something beautiful, Brienne.” 

She closed her eyes then, and though Jaime expected the pool of tears to overflow and create a path down her cheeks, she held them back with the strength she had wielded ever since he had known her. When she opened them again, a red ring surrounded the blue, as if dedicated to him, as if a part of him had merged into her soul. Perhaps being red was not such a bad thing after all. 

“But i’m,” She swallowed. “I’m not beautiful.“ 

Jaime gripped her hand tighter. If he thought the pain he felt when he admitted to himself that she did not love him back was terrible, the pain he felt at the fact that she didn’t love herself was infinitely worse. 

“You’re magnificent. The way i’ve painted you is exactly the way you are, not a detail missing.” He pointed to each part of her on the canvas with his right hand, his eyes ablaze with the passion once again whilst his fake fingertips grazed her painted skin.When he spoke, her spoke with desperation. “You see here? Your cheeks are slightly pinker than the rest of your skin, just as they always are. You always wear silk, just like you were wearing on this day, and it makes your skin so pale and makes your freckles stand out more. Your freckles scatter across your nose, and you even have a small patch above your left eye, and then another on the right of your jaw. Your smile isn’t perfectly straight, it tilts up more on one side compared to the other, and your top teeth overlap your bottom ones in a way that makes it seem bigger; brighter. I even painted that scar above your lip. You have pale eye lashes, but they are so long, and your hair is so blonde it could easily be white. When you smile, your shoulders raise, the movement causes the baby curl you have at your hairline to fall over your forehead. Your nose is slightly crooked on the slope, but it crinkles up when you smile, just like your eyes. Your brilliant eyes. There is no one detail that I have missed out, is there?” 

Brienne shook her head mutely, her breath as shallow as his heart was in his chest at the sight of her hiding her pain. 

“And yet you sill think this painting is beautiful?” She nodded then, silently, but her eyes spoke a thousand words, and Jaime smiled beautifully. “It’s you, Brienne. Everything about this painting is you, and it’s stunning still.”

Brienne was silent for the longest time, though that is what it felt like to Jaime. She had seemingly gathered herself yet again, though she sniffled still through her nose in attempt to keep her tears at bay. She was still beautiful now, more so every day. Jaime was so enraptured, was so stunned by her, that he didn’t register her arms folding around his shoulders until her unsteady breath tickled his neck. 

“Thank you.” She whispered breathily, her large and her delicate hands clutching at him until he could do no more than sink into the embrace, his arms wrapping around her thick waist and grasping the edges of her silk shirt to pull her body closer into his own, and despite their height difference, he rested his head on her shoulder, breathing in the intoxicating scent that was Brienne and allowing it to spread a loving smile on his lips. 

“Don’t thank me,” He murmured. “It’s my job.” 

The cool press of her lips to his cheek made his skin sizzle, the warmth spreading through his blood causing his skin to tingle as her mouth lingered. Sure enough, when he looked in the mirror later on, not only did she leave a scorch mark of red lipstick, but she left an undeniably adoring smile painted on his lips. 

Long after Brienne had left, he sat staring at the painting that had given her such joy as he had never seen before, simply gazing in wonder at the unique beauty on the canvas. She had lived believing she was ugly, but how ever could Jaime see her as such when she had brought such colour into his life? When she had helped him through the black and white until the brightness of all shades met him when he opened his eyes in the morning, and said goodbye to him when he closed his eyes at night. Occasionally, he still saw red and gold, but even as he looked at the background of the painting, it didn’t bother him anymore, because Brienne was smiling at him in her red, silk jumpsuit with her red painted lips, and she was just as gorgeous as she always had been. 

Even so, Jaime found himself with a paintbrush in his left hand as he sat, a pot of perfectly mixed sapphire blue paint by his side, and soon enough he found that his golden hand was no longer. Instead, it was painted blue, and as he held it up in the pale light of the moon to look at it in all of its glory, he thought of Brienne, and he finally felt happy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Typically, it takes me around 5 hours a day to write these chapters. This one took me 7 because I had to take intervals to cry.  
Thanks for reading!!


	9. time travel

Jaime had always played the part that his father had cast him in, the role of his own life seemed so far from the background character he was playing in somebody else’s. Although he did not have it as bad as Tyrion, he was always shoved aside. He had been called stupid and unable, partly because of the dyslexia, but mostly because of the cruelty that followed his every step like a cloud of despair above his head, raining degrading insults until he felt like he was drowning in them. 

Tywin has initially wanted Jaime to join the army - as he had - when he had turned eighteen, he had planned to send him away on his birthday in fact. But when he fell ill, he had to place the family name on him and force him into a job as the manager of Lannister Enterprises, even at an age he could still not yet read at. Jaime was useless at first, he had no idea how to run a company and even less of an idea how to act like a true adult, and so he left most of it to Cersei - not that he had a choice in the matter. His sister had forced her way into the business to claim the money and power for herself, shoving Jaime aside as always. 

It was not Jaime’s choice, but when he was 25 years old, he was sent to join the army. He was healthy, but the only reason he found himself stood at a higher ranking than other new recruits was because of his surname, and once again he was put into a position he knew nothing about with a whole group of soldiers relying on him not to lead them to their ultimate deaths. Jaime worked hard, he worked his body to exhaustion every day to command these men as well as his father had back in the day, he trained himself to unconsciousness to ensure he was powerful enough to take on the responsibility, and he pushed himself to limits that any soldier would be proud of, but they were limits for a reason. For months, he hardly slept, and for years, he commanded. 

Stone faced, stone heart, stone cold. He had turned into a tank, an immovable object that shot canons in the form of demands, and a machine ordered around by the commands of people. 

Aerys Targaryen had been the General of his troop, he the Lieutenant. Each day he was subject to the abuse this man threw at him, just like every private under his watch. Jaime had seen the sense of madness growing in his eyes, Aerys had been in the army too long and he wielded his power with the same carefree attitude that he wielded his gun. Jaime still remembered the day he opened fire on his own troops when they were on the field. He remembered the sound of each individual bullet leaving the gun, and he remembered each and every scream. 

“_Shoot them all!” He commanded, his voice dripping with the insanity that had been bubbling at the surface. _

_“Shoot them all!” _

_“Shoot them all!” _

_“Shoot them-“ _

Jaime had shot him. The bullet had left his gun quicker than his mind had been able to comprehend his action, and he watched the bullet rip through Aerys’ skull and out the other side, killing him instantly, silencing his screams, and those of the handful of innocent soldiers that lay on the ground with blood surrounding their corpses. The field was littered with bodies, the enemy soldiers still firing upon those out in the open as Jaime stood simply staring at the dead body of his commander, his gun still pointed as if he were going to open those mad eyes once more and demand of him again. 

The blood rushing in his veins deafened the noise of bullets around him, and the sight blinded him to the grenade that was thrown mere metres away from where he stood. All he heard was the explosion, and after that the next thing he saw was darkness. 

Sometimes in the morning when he opened his eyes and looked down at himself, Jaime still felt the pain of seeing his hand missing from his wrist, and most times he simply let the emptiness swarm his senses until he could do naught but stare at the ceiling for what felt like hours - and what easily could be - until the feeling came back to his body. Now, of course, he did not look down and see a useless stump, instead a prosthetic. 

Cersei had it designed for him, so of course it was made of solid gold. At the time, Jaime wanted so desperately to feel as though he still had a limb that he had got it fitted without question. He was told that the nerves in his arm and the flow of blood in his brain powered it, and was awestruck when he was able to move the fake limb with ease, and it was the first time after the accident he smiled. He felt whole again, the heavy weight of the solid gold made him feel like his hand had never been lost in the first place. But as the years went on, the bulky metal hand became a curse associated with the Lannister blood he held inside of him It was too heavy, too gold, and it irritated his arm so much he could not have it on for long periods of time, but he still used it for practicality. 

Now though, as he stared down at it, the shimmer of the blue paint he had painted over it with reminding him of the eyes that stared at him from across the table, he smiled. It didn’t seem like such a burden anymore. 

“What are you thinking?” Brienne asked, those long legs of hers crossed over each other as she sat beside him on the grass outside of his home, overlooking the countryside with the castle of Kings Landing peeking out over the top of the mountain. 

“Do you ever time travel?” He inquired, lifting his gaze to meet hers. She seemed happier around him now, ever since that day where she discovered that painting, and he suspected it had something to do with the way she felt better about herself now that she had seen herself the way that he saw her. 

“Time travel?” Brienne tilted her head to the side, a confused habit of hers that Jaime had picked up on over the time they had been spending together. 

“Yes. I suppose a better way to phrase it would be reliving the past.” 

“Of course,” She confirmed with a certain nod, allowing her loose pant-clad legs to unfold so they spread out in front of her, leaning back on her hands and allowing the pressure of her arms to show her subtle muscles under the pale and freckled skin. “There are some moments you can’t help but think back on, both for good reasons and bad.” 

“And what do you relive?” Mindlessly, he began to pick at the daisy’s surrounding them both, plucking each individual petal and allowing the gentle breeze to carry them from his fingertips and into the air. 

“Many things.” For a second, Jaime thought she was about to leave her answer so vague, but when he looked up to question, her intense gaze was resting on his face, shocking him into silence, like her eyes always did. “Do you know why I never thought myself to be anything remotely beautiful until I saw your painting of me?” 

“You were bullied?” He guessed, to which she shook her head. 

“No, I just knew I wasn’t. Of course, I was told that I was no beauty, but I had always known. Growing up, I had no real friends besides my brother, and when attending an all Ladies school it was not difficult for me to attract unwanted attention and unneeded words. Compared to all other ladies, I was a freak. Too tall, too freckled, too boyish, too lanky. But I knew all of these things, I knew I didn’t fit in, and every moment of every day I relive what it’s like to feel like I did back then, because even though I have come to terms with how I look and how I am built, I still stand out. It’s difficult not to find yourself travelling through time when you made emotional connections.”

Jaime nodded slowly, ducking his head down to the petals in his hand and sighing softly, the air blown from his nose causing them to fly off with the breeze. 

“Do you ever wish you could be someone else? That if given the chance, you would rebuild your life exactly how you wanted it and start over again?” He questioned, lifting his emerald eyes to meet the sapphires of hers, which shone with such serenity that he was not entirely sure whether she had ever known heartache despite her admittance. 

“I used to,” She nodded. “When I was a little girl, my father used to call me a princess, and I truly believed I was. I would wear dresses even to bed, and I would speak like a true lady. But when I joined school, I realised that I was not the princess I had always wanted to be, I was too ugly to be a princess. So, I thought, If i couldn’t be, then I would be a knight instead. But even when I joined the fencing team and when I was enjoying all the sports I was playing and being rough with the boys, I still wished I could be the princess I had wanted to be as a girl. I was never meant to be a lady, not because of my inabilities to be able to live as one, but because of the way I looked, the way I was built.” 

“But you are a lady,” Jaime argued, reaching over to place a comforting hand on her knee. He did not know whether she needed the reassurance or not, her face was as neutral as it always was, but he didn’t want to take the risk of missing an opportunity to see that smile of hers aimed at him and him only. “You are a lady as much as you are a noble knight.” 

She chuckled at that, her eyes focused on the scarred and battle worn hand that rested on her knee. “I know I am. I know that now, of course. I’ve accepted what I am, and although every day I travel back in my mind to a place where I felt as though I didn’t belong, Im happier now.” 

“What makes you happy, my lady?” Jaime was glad of his own smile, it seemed to brighten the one that spread across her lips. 

“There’s an infinite list, I don’t want to bore you.” 

“Trust me, you never could.” There was that blush he loved so much tinting her cheeks. 

“Alright,” She relented, tilting her head up to the clear sky as if the heavens were giving her the answers to his question. Jaime watched the long, elegant column of her throat with an urge to run his lips across the silky skin and catalogue each freckle with the tip of his tongue. “Helping people makes me happy, that has to be at the top of the list somewhere. Fashion too, I never used to like it much but as I’ve grown older I’ve discovered that it helps me feel more like myself compared to when I used to dress like a boy. My friends, my family. Thoughts of Galladon.” 

Jaime almost lost his breath when her eyes fell onto him, her gaze softer than he had ever seen it before, so much so he could almost fool himself into believing it was love hidden in that ocean-like ring surrounding her pupil. 

“You make me happy.” She said as a final answer, her top teeth biting down on her lip in amusement at the shock which settled over his features. 

“I do? I thought I must just depress you with all of my problems.” He laughed then, a breathy sound which was light enough to be carried away in the breeze with as much ease as the petals had been. 

“I don’t smile for many people,” She shrugged, reaching out her left hand to drag a finger across the metal of his now blue prosthetic, the tilt of her mouth only widening. “But I do for you. To see you happy makes me feel the same. Besides, you think I’m beautiful.” 

“I do.” He confirmed, the words slipping from his lips as smoothly as the red silk that covered her arms moved with her. 

Brienne blushed, her nose scrunching up to stop her smile from intensifying even further. “I hope to make you happier, Jaime Lannister, so that when you time travel,” The twinkle in her eyes lit up his world in a way that no other star could. “Instead or thinking of all things associated with red and gold, you’ll think of blue instead.” 

Jaime paused, his breath caught, and his heart positively stopped. “How did you-“ 

“I always know.” She simply said. Jaime could not resist linking his fingers with hers, the blue of the metal and the blue of her nails matching in a way that Jaime could only thank coincidence for. 

“Well then,” Jaime swallowed, watching their hands grasp each other with the need to hold onto the happiness they shared in that moment, unwilling to let it go and travel back to times where they had never known such a feeling. “Here’s to being happy with each other, Brienne Tarth, and forgetting the troubles of the past. For now.” 

“Here’s to happier days and happier memories.” 

Jaime lifted her hand to his lips then, repaying the favour she had bestowed upon his cheek and laying a sweet and tender kiss on her knuckles. It was a promise; a promise that no matter, he would always be happier with her, and that his happiness would always be hers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry guys! i’ve been busy today, so it’s a bit shorter than usual, but i hope you enjoy it all the same!


	10. dark

Night time was both the most freeing and constricting time of the day for Jaime. With everyone else asleep, he was left completely alone to do as he pleased, whether it be a walk to allow the cool breeze falling over Kings Landing to drag through his hair with the same care as a mothers fingers, or simply to paint and create a rhythm with his paintbrush against his canvas to fill the silence of the world around him. However, night time meant sleep, and sleep meant nightmares from memories that he did not want to relive, and no matter how brightly the moonbeams streamed through his windows, he was never truly safe and secure. 

But night time, Jaime discovered as of recent hours, was also a time for the comforting embrace of a blanket laid over two pairs of long legs and a cup of hot tea held within the palms of his hands.

He and Brienne had not moved from their position apart from to gather their drinks and their blanket, which had made them shuffle closer together in order to grasp onto the warmth much needed in the ever cooling weather. They would talk every so often, and when they did their voices were so soft as to not disturb the tranquility that’s surrounded them, and Jaime was grateful for it. The simple presence was enough to keep him calm and content to remain quiet, for it was not a forced quiet that haunted him from every corner, but the kind of quiet that was chosen. 

“I cant remember the last time I sat outside at night and just admired the view.” Jaime murmured, his eyes that were alright with the glow of the moon moving to settle on Brienne, who stared at the stars with the same longing hidden within his own eyes. 

“Neither can I,” She hummed truthfully after a moment of trying to think back. Her long legs raised to her chest, the delicate fold of her arms around them making her seem so much smaller than what she truly was, like she truly were a child gazing up at the sky for the first time. “When I was a girl I used to, there are very many cliffs on Tarth, we lived in Evenfall Hall until father turned it into a hotel. I used to sit on them and watch the ocean. I suppose adulthood makes you forget about the beauty of the world.” 

“Tell me more of Tarth.” Jaime said, enchanted by the gaze of fondness hidden poorly within those tired and fluttering eyes of hers as she talked of her home. The oceans of Tarth really did swirl within her iris’. 

“I’m afraid that I can do it no justice. It’s truly beautiful,” A small sigh emitted from her then as she rested her head on the tops of her knees, clutching her knees for the warmth that a blanket could no longer give her. “The waters are so blue that it’s commonly referred to as the Sapphire Isle. The land is so lush and so alive that it’s one of the only isle’s in the Stormlands where nature still thrives and where it travels to to reside during summer and spring. Throughout the year, it rains more than it shines, but when it shines its enchanting. Evenfall Hall sits on top of the highest hill, overlooking the coast, and the white bricks glow even in the moonlight. The towns are vintage, very rustic with cobbled paths where houses made as late as the 16th century still stand.” 

Jaime could do naught but watch her as she spoke, transfixed by the affection of which she talked with. The intimacy of the moment was truly made by silence that stretched across the miles of fields in front of them where the castle of Kings Landing peeked over the top of the facing mountain, it felt to Jaime they were the only ones in the world, and that was completely fine. That was more than perfect. 

“You miss it.” He observed with a small smile, itching to reach over and soothe her pale skin with the warmth of his body. “Why don’t you go back?” 

“The time never seemed right.” Brienne sighed, shrugging her shoulders lightly and turning to face him. The glow of the moonlight cast the dark shadows on her face away, leaving her with that same striking magnificence he had always seen. “Between work and taking on new clients, all the free time I have is spent catching up with friends I haven’t seen in months. Taking time off to travel, to go home, has always simply been too much of a risk.” 

Jaime nodded his head, allowing a moment of silence to pass as steadily as the breeze between them whilst he shifted to cross his legs, careful of the two cups that rested on the grass next to one another. 

“Why did you move to Kings Landing?” He asked eventually, the comfort of the wind raking through his hair and through his growing beard sending shivers up his spine. “If you loved Tarth so much, what pushed you to move?” 

“I moved because as much as I love Tarth, I didn’t want to settle there too soon. I wanted to see what Westeros had to offer, and I came here not long after finishing studies at Highgarden. Most success is made in Kings Landing, and I wanted to make it as a therapist. I didn’t realise the level of popularity I would have until I found myself consumed by it.” 

“You’re known as the best,” Jaime smiled, inclining his head to her with the respect that she deserved for her every day troubles to ensure that all other people around her were well looked after and in good health. “It truly suits you.” 

Brienne bit down on the corner of her lip, her cheeks flushing a delicate shade of pink at the component. Jaime had discovered over the time he had known her that she was a master at dissembling, but her cheeks always seemed to betray her when she received praise for her work, or simply caring words in general. He wondered if she blushed for anyone else, or whether it was only for him. 

“So i’m told,” She nodded, wisps of her fine hair falling over her forehead. “As much pride as I have for myself, being highly sought after is more of a curse than a blessing.” 

“How do you mean?” 

Brienne sighed, though a smile still remained on her lips, as if trying to keep up the reassuring persona she had worked so hard to master for her patients. “Being highly sought after means that I deal with clients who have been through more than I can comprehend. There’s only so many tales you can hear of abuse, of suicidal thoughts and attempts, of traumatic losses and things alike before it takes a toll on you. But I have to be strong for them, because for a lot of them i’m the only person they have.” Her arms wrapped tighter around herself, hugging herself until her sharp nails dug into her skin hard enough to draw the risk of them being painted red by blood. “It’s the child clients that are the hardest. It’s the fear in their eyes that haunts me when I close my eyes, the tremor in their small voices as they recount stories of past abuse make me physically sick. But I have to be strong still, I have to hide tears behind soothing smiles and comforting hugs because It’s all I can do not to break down.”

Jaime could no naught but stare, pressing his lips tightly together so another moment of silence could pass between them, allowing her a moment to collect herself once again. Brienne always held herself stronger than she had to be around him, but if that made her comfortable, then he would gladly sit and watch the glazed over look in her eyes melt away for as long as it took for that steadiness to return. 

“You’re extraordinary, do you understand that?” He asked quietly, his hand finding hers with ease, resting his palm over her fingers to try and ease them away from digging into her precious, silky skin. “I cannot imagine the pain you go through every day just to ensure that others go pain free. You do it by the goodness of your heart, and I can assure you that every burst of happiness I feel now is because of you. You make me happy, Brienne Tarth.” 

“You make me happy too, Jaime Lannister,” She smiled, lifting her head from her knees to stare at where their hands connected once again. Her words relaxed him, the truth of them sparkling in her eyes had his own squinting with how widely he smiled. 

“How about we go inside? I’ll open a bottle of wine and we can sit and chat for s little longer? It’s getting colder out here.” 

“I would love to, but I’m driving. I cant drink.”

“I’ve a spare bedroom you could use,” He offered hopefully. “It’s not been used in an age, so i’ll have to change the sheets, but it’ll be good for the night at least.” 

“I’ve no alternative clothes to wear.” 

“I’m sure i’ll have a pair of old pyjamas somewhere around.”

Brienne chewed her bottom lip, taking one last look at the sight in front of them as if it would be the last thing she saw before the Seven took her, the smallest pleasant sigh slipping out into the open air before she offered him her hand to help him up. 

“I’d like that.” She agreed eventually, lowering her legs from her chest in favour of standing up. All Jaime could do to prevent himself from scanning the length of her body was to focus on her face. Her beautiful, magnificent, artistic face. 

—— 

Jaime watched from the couch as Brienne tended to the fire place, sipping idly out of his wine glass as he beheld the sight. It wasn’t one that he had not seen before with the warm hues of golden and orange light giving her form a silhouette that from afar made her seem more god than human, but it was still a sight that mystified and captivated him until he forgot to breathe.

“Have you never used this fire before?” She asked, turning her head towards him, her owlish eyes searching for him until they focused, the gleam of the fire making her eyes swim with liquid gold. 

“Once before,” He shrugged, uncrossed his legs and stood himself up. “It can be quite difficult to get going, it’s why I hardly ever use it.” 

Brienne sat back on her thighs, the poker stick in her hand wielded professionally enough that Jaime was able to picture it as an actual fencing sword without much need for his imagination as he sat down beside her. The warmth of the fire was a relief and felt much better from such a distance, he could feel it seeping into his skin as the stale smell of smoke caressed his lungs. 

“Your house is too big for you,” She observed, manoeuvring herself so she sat on the floor with her knees folded beside her, leaning on her left hand close enough to him that Jaime swore he could feel the phantom kiss of her breath on his neckwith her face turned towards him. “You don’t use a lot of its facilities.” 

“I only bought this house because it was far away from anything else. I didn’t want to live in the city, and I liked the view.” 

“I understand how you feel,” Brienne chuckled a little, reaching behind her to grab her own wine glass off the coffee table, taking an elegant sip of it and swirling it around afterwards to enhance the rich flavour. “I lived in an apartment in the city when I first moved here. It was terrible. Too much noise, too much commotion, and much too expensive. I moved out after only six months and bought my current house just on the outskirts. It doesn’t have the same view as yours, but it’s better than living in the city.” 

“I used to live in the centre of it. My father owns one of the biggest estates in the city, I grew up there. Anyone would think I would be used to all of the hassle, but I was never a fan of it. Out here I feel more content, but it is lonely.” 

Brienne nodded her head, her bottom lip twitching as if going to say something before her parted lips closed again. Jaime raised an eyebrow at her to persuade her to talk, and after the initial embarrassment of being caught had passed, she spoke. 

“Have you tried dating?” It was an innocent question, yet Jaime’s heart pounded against his chest anyways. 

“All the women in Kings Landing are the same; they want money and fame. I wouldn’t sink so low just to have a face to wake up to in the morning.” He took a gulp of his wine. “Besides, I prefer outsiders.” 

He watched Brienne’s lips mouth that word as if trying to decipher its meaning, but he could tell by the sudden shyness looming over her expression that she had caught on. She didn’t offer any words for a moment, simply hid behind the rim of her glass until she had collected herself again, and when she did, Jaime couldn’t be certain whether the hint of passion in her eyes was the cause of her alcohol or his own. 

“What do you mean by outsiders?” She asked, shifting her gaze from the fingers that drummed against her glass cup and his face, which had softened to make the usually scruffy beard and out of place long hair seem more endearing. 

“I mean people who haven’t grown up here, who haven’t been corrupted by fame. People who care more about the more important things in life than fortune. Those that have kinder hearts than anybody here claims to have, and who don’t live off of others, rather who give themselves to help others.”

“People like me.” Brienne stated, no question present in her voice. Jaime swallowed, silently worshiping for what could have been minutes, but was in fact seconds. 

“Yes,” He confirmed. “People like you.” 

Jaime had not realised how closely they had shuffled together until their sweet scented breaths mingled together in front of them, the heat emitting from the fire turning each puff of air into a burning smoke that fanned out across his face, igniting a passion within him that courses through his veins and sped up his heart. 

Wine forgotten, he leant forward at the same time as she, and their foreheads touched together, faintly, but Jaime had already fallen victim to the way their lips ghosted over one another’s but did not touch, their heads moving accordingly as if their mouths were locked in a passionate kiss that neither of them had the confidence to initiate. Brienne’s eyelashes fluttered against his cheek, creating phantom sensations of her fingertips running lovingly against his warm skin, and his own eyes closed to further immerse himself into the reality he had only ever dreamed of. His hand rose desperately to the side of her face, cupping it within his palm and allowing his calloused fingers to swipe over her smooth, freckled jaw. A soft gasp fell from her parted mouth which almost dragged him that extra distance to kiss her, to pour every ounce of love he had into her soul until they became one with each other’s, now and forever. But he didn’t, because just as their bottom lips touched in a faint contact that Jaime could not help but shiver at, the trance was broken, and she pulled away from him slowly. 

Jaime could not open his eyes, could not manage to tear the hand away from her face which she had since covered with her own in fear of not being able to touch her again, to not feel her breath brush against his cheeks one last time. His own breath stuttered in his throat, a choked sound in the form of her name emitting from him as he tried so hard to cling onto the sensations of her passion radiating off of her and latching onto him, pulling him further into the abyss of her love and care. 

“Jaime,” She whispered, her thumb running delicately over his scarred knuckles. It did not sound like a command for him to open his eyes, only a prayer on her tongue. “Jaime.” 

Finally, he opened his eyes, but could not face her as he lowered his head to stare down at his painted blue hand. It was only when two of her fingers hooked under his chin to tilt his head up that he looked into her eyes, and it was then that after years of being lost, he found himself in those orbs of sapphire blue, which gazed at him like he was everything he had ever wanted to be and more. 

“Come on,” Brienne murmured then, turning her head into the hold of his hand against her cheek, indulging in the gentle, loving grasp for a moment more before she took his hand into her own and lowered it between them. “Now is not the time. Now is time for sleep.” 

Jaime nodded his head slowly. Night time was the time for sleeping, she was right. It was not time for confessions of love to slip from the heart and out into the open like a last minute attempt to savour the day that was almost at an end. 

“Now is time for sleep.” He agreed, and he smiled with the love he could not yet admit for the woman that sat in front of him, who’s kind heart he knew had given him the ability to love in the first place. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;) <3


	11. dream

Jaime did not typically dream, not in sleep anyways. Throughout the day, his thoughts were filled with musings of the life he wished he lived, with the love he wished that he had, and even his day dreams were soon infected by looming thoughts of his dim reality. Nightmares had plagued his unconscious state for long enough now that they no longer was frightened of them, no longer woke up screaming or in a cold sweat, he simply tossed and turned until he fell into a dreamless rest. He did not dwell on it, it never really had bothered him, and it was only when he found himself in his current predicament that he actually wished he could have a sense of fake happiness. 

Brienne was his friend before anything else, but she was also his therapist. She had helped him overcome his trauma until he felt lighter, like a burden had been ripped off of his shoulders, and she did it with the goodness of her kind heart. It was something that Jaime wasn’t used to, and something that he tried to convince himself he shouldn’t get used to, for the only place he and Brienne were together was in his dreams, and he never did dream. She had been his only saving grace, the only true love he had ever known, and he had to remind himself that his feelings were not unique; she had many clients, all of with with background more tragic than his, and all of which were probably as in love with his lady as Jaime was. 

But there was more to it, Jaime was sure of it. Brienne did not spend the night at her other patients houses, she did not cook them breakfast and console them when they cried on her shoulder in her house. She did not allow her barrier of emotions to drop in front of them when they had painted her in the light in which she was more beauty than anything she had been called, or called herself. Brienne was not that kind of person, Jaime knew it to be true, but she did it all for him. 

Last night they had almost kissed in front of the fire, and if Jaime focused hard enough he could still smell the scent of her breath drifting through the air in front of him, intoxicating him in such a way that alcohol had never managed to. He could still feel the fluttering of her eyelashes against his cheek, and could still feel his mouth tingling as her bottom lip momentarily caressed his in a fleetingly brief contact. His senses had been heightened, and it seemed they still were. He could sense her presence as she walked down the stairs to meet him in the kitchen, the air seemed to part for her to walk through like creating a path for her grace to follow, and that air swept towards him at a speed that could have knocked him clean over. 

“Good morning.” Brienne greeted, managing to look just as graceful in the morning as she did in the evening. It was clear to Jaime that she had just woken up, yet she was still stunning with her mused hair the fading pillow mark on her right cheek. She had since changed out of the pyjamas he had given her and she was back into her clothes from the day before; white, loose-fitting pants and a blue silk camisole that she was just finishing tucking in. His only regret was not being able to see her dressed in his clothes. 

“Morning!” He chirped, his grin threatening to split his face as she looked towards him with those tired eyes that still shone brighter than the early morning sun. “I made eggs!” 

Brienne laughed softly, fixing the straps of her top as she walked over, the swing in her hips as subtle as it always was yet still managed to enchant Jaime to the point of oxygen loss. 

“You’re burning them.” She observed, peeking over his shoulder to gaze into the pan. Jaime briefly wondered how she managed to smell so fresh in the morning, but then again of course she did. It was one more perfect feature that he couldn’t indulge in, one more thing to enhance his longing. 

“What do you mean?” He asked, frowning down at the two eggs that looked more brown than white. 

“This is your first time cooking eggs, I presume?” 

Jaime grumbled quietly. “Don’t act like you don’t already know.” 

Brienne plucked the spatula from his hand, concealing her giggle by biting down on her lower lip which still had faded remnants of red lipstick, making her mouth look that much more delectable. 

“I’ll do the eggs, you can make some tea.” Brienne tilted her head towards the kettle on the counter, and Jaime could do naught but obey her, knowing full well that he had no idea how to fry a damn egg. 

“Did you sleep well?” He asked, taking two cups out of the cupboard above his head and topping up the kettle with tap water to fill it up. 

“I did, thank you,” She nodded, her eyes flickering between the two new eggs she had cracked into the pan and him. “Your guest bed is comfort than my own.” 

“Feel free to use it any time,” He chuckled, managing to catch the shade of pink that crossed over her cheekbones. 

“And you?” She asked. “Did you sleep well?” 

“As well as ever.”

“Not very then?” 

“Not at all.” Together, they laughed quietly, the rhythms of each sound creating a melody that Jaime’s heart began to beat to. “It wasn’t really all that bad. I dreamt.” 

“You dreamt?” Brienne was almost surprised. “What did you dream of?” With her gaze focused so intently on the eggs she was cooking that she completely failed to notice the utterly devoted look in Jaime’s eyes. 

He wished to say that it was her that he had dreamed of. That Brienne had given him hope even in a state of unconsciousness that he had no control over, that it had been her smile and her laugh and her care that he had found solace in during his mot difficult hours where horrors of the past usually haunted him, but her driven away by the force and brightness of her light. But it was too much for her to hear, after last night especially. 

“I dreamt that I was happy.” He smiled, to which her eyes positively lit up. It was awfully endearing, and Jaime could not resist that damnedlook that overcame his face once again which spoke more words of love than any poet could ever dream to write. 

“You don’t need to dream to be happy.” She reminded. 

“I do, but only for now. One day, it’ll become my reality.” For what it was worth, she was more than right. All Jaime needed to chase the troubles and pain away was to have her in his sight and to see that same smile she was giving him now which made his days worth living if only to be the reason behind her happiness.

Brienne gleamed, the dull morning light streaming in through the parted blinds of his kitchen to shine directly onto her as if it were a gateway to heaven, as if the Seven were trying to claim her back. “That’s very optimistic of you, my lord.”

“That’s all you, my lady.”

“I’m proud of you.” She said suddenly, sincerely. “I don’t say it enough, but i’m so proud of you.”

He was left breathless at such a declaration, and suddenly, it was all worth it. Every missing fragment of his soul was mended, every construction wall he had built around his heart collapsed, and even the line of his right arm where flesh stopped and metal started pulsed. That one phrase meant more to him than the life he was still lucky enough to lead, and for it to come from Brienne was only that much more gratifying. 

Brienne seemed to hold her breath, and Jaime could not help but think that she was giving him her own air for him to breathe, just as she had given him her happiness and her care for him to feel once again. 

“Thank you.” Jaime whispered, his throat uncomfortably scratchy after having to force the words up from his chest to beat the onslaught of choked emotions. 

“The only person you need to thank is yourself.” 

The hand that had placed itself on his shoulder was so warm even through the fabric of his shirt, and he felt the press of it scolding a print into his skin like a hidden promise. 

“Brienne?” He murmured, his eyes hidden behind long lashes and tendrils of hair that had fallen out of the tuck behind his ear. He wanted to say it, she deserved to hear it for all the trouble she had gone through to ensure his safety from himself. The simple prayer of her name on his tongue was enough for now though, and he realised as much when the familiar vowels of her name slipped off his tongue. 

“Yes, Jaime?” How delicate his name sounded on her lips, how much it sounded it sounded like a declaration of love in itself, but that was his own mind trying to tempt him. He would not say it, not yet. Instead, he simply grinned and pointed to the stove.

“Your eggs are burning.” 

“Oh!” 

Soon. 

— 

Brienne left for work not long after they had finished their tea, eggs burnt and forgotten in the rubbish bin. She needed not voice it, but Jaime could tell from her painted fingers that smoothed out her clothing needlessly that she was conscious of her own image since she was wearing the same clothes as the previous day. He had sent her on her way by telling her that she looked beautiful and that she needn’t worry about what she looked like, because she always did. Had Jaime been listening to his mind and not his heart, he would have simply told her that she looked as presentable as always, but of course his heart had cut off his rationality for the selfish reason of wanting her for itself. 

Brienne had still smiled, but there was hesitance in her blue eyes, like a wave ready to crash against a shore but holding back against the reef. It ran deeper than just being told she was beautiful, Jaime had stated it and made it clear enough to her that even she had admitted she looked as such in her painting. He could not grasp it when she had been stood at his door and saying her farewell for the day, her thank you for his hospitality, and her apology for burning the eggs, or he would have stopped her and soothed whatever worry she had. Instead, he had simply let her go, but with every step she took away from him, the sensation she had left on his lips the previous night grew stronger. 

They had not mentioned it that morning, though it was clear that both of them wanted so desperately to bring the matter of their hearts up. Jaime didn’t want to avoid it, he wanted to whisper it into her ear for the words he wished to speak were for her only. But he could not decipher what Brienne wanted. Those eyes that only ever showed what he wanted to see gave no indication, but her actions did. Perhaps he didn’t know her as well as she knew him, but he was not blinded entirely by his heart, and he could see that she cared for him more than a therapist would care for a patient. 

Jaime was more than her patient, she was his friend. He made her happy, he thought she was beautiful, he loved her, and that is when he finally understood. It churned his gut like the stormy seas on an unforgiving night, the waves crashing against his stomach until he felt all at once the fear that she must be feeling too. Brienne had only ever known the pain of love. The pain of losing Galladon, the pain of loving Hyle Hunt only for him to take it for granted and use it against her, the pain that she faced every single day whilst listening to tales from troubled patients who had never known love. 

She had given so much of herself to others that she did not know how to love herself, and in that, she did not know how to accept the love others gave her. 

Jaime stuttered on his breath, the colour draining from his face and leaving him with a pale, blank canvas that at one glance nobody would have ever known it had once held the happy expression Brienne had painted on him with all the beauty she possessed. 

She was scared of him. Scared of love. It had been written so plainly, yet Jaime was so entranced by his own admiration that he did not stop to think what such a thing was doing to her giving soul. Scared of experiencing the same hurt she had been enduring throughout most of her life. 

Soon, he told said that morning when he had been closer to uttering those words of love to her. 

_Now_, he told himself as he grabbed his house keys and headed out the door with the intent of making his dreams a reality. She needed to understand that he loved her, and that he would love her with all he had. With all she gave him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Truth be told, this isn’t actually the actual prompt I was meant to write today. The actual prompt was ‘whump’ but I didn’t know how to incorporate that into the story at this point because my plan is very specific for the next few chapters, so i decided to skip ahead to what was meant to be prompt 12. Though, i will make up for this lost chapter with an epilogue!


	12. feelings

Love was not a complete stranger to Jaime, he was not unfamiliar with its presence and he was aware of the way it manipulated his heart like a puppet on his heartstrings, pulling and tugging until love felt like the most bitter pain and the sweetest solvent. Sometimes, the feeling came unexpectedly; it surged through him until he felt his very bones quake with the sudden rush of emotion, his mind hazy from the onslaught he felt so unaccustomed too. 

However, the feelings came when Jaime did not need them. Cersei was his sister, and despite the constant bittersweet caress of her degrading words against his mind, he loved her still. She was family, and she always would be, but she didn’t deserve the love he had for her and she knew as such, but Jaime gave it to her freely as he had none to give himself. They were twins, yet could not be more different, they came into the world together, yet lived entirely separate lives. He had lost her when he had lost his hand, and another part of him was taken away from him when she turned on her heel and walked away from him, leaving nothing but a cold stare engraved into his mind. 

The only kind of love he had known in his life that had given back all he had put into it came from Tyrion. Growing up in a household that held a father who hated him and a sister that could not stand the sight of him, Jaime had been all Tyrion had to rely on, and Jaime had loved his little brother from the moment he had met him. He was all he had for the longest time, and until he had met Brienne, he remained as such. They had the kind of love meant for each other, and it was as beautiful as it was tragic. 

Jaime knew love, he had met it before and he had fallen victim to its grasping hands that tore his heart and mended it within the same breath, but the feelings he held for Brienne went beyond love, they had to. His heart beat, it broke, it ached, and it longed all at once for her own. For her, rose bushes had bloomed in his lungs from the seeds planted by the life she breathed into him, and despite the thorns that ripped away at the organ until he felt shallow without her near, the roses caressed him until the pain wore away and to allow him the ability to breathe out words of love, though he had been too scared until now to do so. 

Jaime did not have a steady plan, though he had thought about it during the journey to her offices. He had thought of sweeping her up in his arms and holding her tight enough so that their lungs breathed in the air the other exhaled, and he had thought of simply whispering in her ear until her lips met his in a dance that only they knew. There were wrong ways to go about this though, and he needed to make sure it was perfect. Not for the memory of the moment, or for his own self gain, but for Brienne. He didn’t want to scare her, to give her another reason to fear love, he just wanted to love her with all she deserved. 

“Excuse me,” Jaime smiled as politely as he could to Brienne’s assistant who sat at reception, trying not to think of her being less than a few rooms away from where he was. “Is Doctor Tarth free?” 

Jaime had met Podrick a number of times, and he was a nice young lad that Brienne had taken under her wing after she had helped him overcome his PTSD, as he gushed about every time Jaime found himself sitting outside of her office and waiting to be let inside. 

“Not yet, Mr Lannister,” Pod turned towards the clock on the wall to check the time. “But she will be free in about half an hour. Do you need to make an appointment with her?” 

Jaime nodded his head. “Please. Book me in for her next free session.”

—— 

Jaime was unaware of how long he had been waiting outside of her office, but he couldn’t help but feel that looming sense of dread which spread throughout his body until he felt as though he were choking on the words that he wanted to let out. His hands were smoothing out his pants, the constant need to fidget forging his knees to bounce where he sat. It was only the faint sound of Brienne’s voice on the other side of the door that allowed him momentary calmness. 

Perhaps her office was not the best place to do this, but Jaime could not think of a single place that would make this moment what he wished it could be, what it ought to be. It was during the middle of her work day, she was most likely already so mentally exhausted from the clients she had already seen, and if not, she would surely be on her way. As he sat, he realised that this perhaps was not his greatest plan, was not anything like he had thought it would be during his journey here. He didn’t want to burden her with his own feelings during a time where she had told him he struggled to keep herself so strong for the sake of others. 

Just as he stood up to leave, to rethink his options, her door opened. 

“I will see you next week, Pia.” Brienne’s smooth voice drifted through the otherwise silent corridor like liquid velvet, much like it had the first time Jaime had found himself outside of her door, only this time he held his mended heart in his hands rather than in shambles. 

“Thank you, Doctor,” A child’s voice followed, and Jaime looked down to see the sweet little girl who walked out of the office, her neck straining to look up at Brienne with a smile that made her job worth the strength she fought so hard to maintain. 

She had been so focused on making sure that the little girl made her way down the stairs safely that she did not notice Jaime until she turned her head to the right. 

“Jaime?” She asked, her light eyebrows furrowing at the sight of him. Jaime could do naught but stare for the moment, his lips parted to release stuttered breaths that although were softer than the rose petals sweeping across the inside of his lungs, felt tougher than the thorns that simultaneously shredded him inside as the air traveled up his throat. 

“Brienne,” He acknowledged, nodding his head in polite greeting, willing himself to return his gaze up to her before it remained focused on the hard, wooden flooring. “May I come in?”

“Pod told me that I have a late appointment booked-“ 

“Aye, that’s me.” Jaime nodded his head, watching as she analysed him from where she stood at the door, looking the same as when she had left his house with her slightly creased clothing and mused hair. There was no think about her he could consider ugly, no part of her that he did not desire and crave to her held to. She was a beauty, and she did not understand it. 

“Well,” She said eventually, stepping aside and holding the door open for him. Jaime noticed a hint of a smile curling at her nude lips. He could not bring himself to return it. “Come in.” 

Jaime walked on through, his eyes wondering around the room he knew so well as Brienne made her way past him, the gentle click of the door as it shut echoing in his mind. 

“Would you like to sit down?” She asked, her delicate fingers drifting to motion to the seat opposite her own. For a moment, he thought he should accept, his knees felt weak beneath him and his stomach swooped whenever he thought of what was to come, whether the outcome was good or bad, but eventually, he shook his head. 

“No, i’m quite fine standing. I don’t mean to take up much of your time, I only came to talk about one specific thing.” Jaime watched her pause then, her brilliant gaze lay steadily on his own, and he watched as the waters settled to flow into a calm sight that gave him some of the confidence she had unknowingly taken from him when he entered the room. 

“Of course,” She said slowly, straightening her back and standing taller, her long legs shifting to accommodate her position in front of him. “What would you like to say?” 

Jaime’s mind whirled with words he wished to say, words that he had held back on for so long now that they were ready to spill out of his mouth at any given point, and he was frightened they would slip out too soon. She was as progressional as she always was in this room, she held her head high and remained patient as he evaluated himself, and Jaime was grateful for it. Anybody else would have interfered by now, would have shown their boredom in a single sigh that would have sent him reeling backwards. But not Brienne. He could trust Brienne. 

“This morning,” He began slowly, unable to drag his fern green eyes away from hers, as if the water surrounding her pupil would water the trees surrounding his to give them the life they needed, the life that once sparkled in them when he smiled. “I told you that I had a dream. You asked what of, and I said that I dreamt I was happy.” 

“I remember, yes.” She nodded, seemingly unaware as to where this was going. Her voice was quiet though, as gentle as the breeze, which it could easily be swept up in. 

“Well, I missed something out. Perhaps the most important detail in my dream.” He hesitated. “And in day to day life.” 

Brienne did not answer then, she simply waited for him to carry on, and it was then that Jaime managed a small smile. 

“It was you, Brienne.” He revealed, and it was the easiest thing he had ever had to do. 

Jaime watched as her lips parted, her frame deflate slightly with the stutter of breath that passed into the air to the same rhythm of his faltering heart. Her eyes grew wider then, her long and pale lashes casting shadows on her cheeks that could have looked like tear tracks from a distance, but from where he stood, simply made her pale skin glow and her blotchy freckles stand out like they were always supposed to. 

“Jaime,” She whispered, a celestial harmony which soothed him enough to regain his own self, realising that he had been gazing at her silently, like she were everything and more. 

“Please, let me finish.” Jaime awaited her slow nod of approval before he stepped forward, his left hand reaching for her right, her delicate fingers sliding across his rough skin, and her callouses fitting perfectly with his own and he grasped. Brienne stared down at their hands, then back up at him. “Brienne, you have given me so much more than I deserve. Not only did you give me the perception to see that I have a life worth living, but you gave me a reason worth living. That reason is you. You are the most beautiful reason.” 

“Jaime.” Brienne’s steady hand found the side of his face, and it lay with as much delicacy as her voice held whilst her thumb brushed over his growing stubble. He leant into her, and he rose his right hand up to gently grasp onto her wrist, the cool metal surely scolding her skin, but she did not seem to care, not as what could only be described as love shone rays of light upon the waves that danced in her eyes and made them glimmer with such familiarity. “Is this really the right time?” 

“No,” He admitted, and at that she laughed, a choked sound that caught in her throat yet still danced on her tongue with as much elegance as always. “But this Is our time. Literally, I paid for it and everything.” 

“Jaime,” She sighed in a fond scold, curling her hand further around his cheek until he relaxed into the hold and his eyes glazed over with admiration and adoration. Jaime was safe with her, he felt everything slip away until all that remained was Brienne in front of him with that smile that made the heavens sing. “This isn’t... I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how-“ 

“Neither do I,” He soothed, his thumb brushing away the fear that crept onto her features like her own looking demon. “But we will figure it out together, if that is what you want. I know you haven’t had the best experiences with love, neither have I, but together we can figure this out. We are each other’s happiness, remember?” 

“Love?” Brienne’s voice was so fragile, so innocent that the slightest raise in her tone could shatter it completely. Jaime nodded his head, and she looked as though she might shed a tear or two with the waters that crashed against her pupils.

“Ask me how I feel.” He whispered, and he felt her sharp exhale fan across his cheeks in such a caress that her hand now matched. “Ask me how I feel, just one last time.” 

“How do you feel, Jaime Lannister?” That voice. Her sweet, soft voice. He did not know it from the moment they first met, but hearing it now, he knew it was the sound that made the flowers in his lungs bloom and the thorns fall until nothing but beauty was left for her. Nothing but love. 

“Like I love you.” 

Brienne pressed her forehead to his, the melody of her quiet laugh of disbelief orchestrating the beating or his heart until he found himself matching her shaky smile with his own. And with a gentle pull on the hand he still grasped, and the placement of his right hand on her blushing cheek that warmed him even through the metal, after a separation that tore his heart in his chest until he could no longer breathe without her near, their lips touched. 

Slowly, Brienne’s hand untangled from his to slide around his shoulders, his sliding around her waist to clutch her silk camisole, and together they pulled each other closer until there was no room for even air to slip between them, just as it should be. Their lips moulded together until neither was sure which pair belonged to whine, sliding over one another’s in a waltz even newly weds did not match the passion of, and together they allowed the world to slip away until they were holding what was left of it within their hands on each other’s cheeks, swiping away remnants of unshed tears with their thumbs. 

Jaime knew one thing in that moment, it was the only thing he could comprehend, and it was that Brienne was worth the wait. She was worth every pain, every missing limb, every bad day, and every emotional wound, and Jaime knew he would gladly suffer through it all again if he knew he would be happy, with her. To kiss her felt like happiness and hope and home all at once. To kiss her felt like his soul had risen from the depths of the oceans in her eyes and given him a second chance to the life he never had the chance to live. 

Jaime did not know if any of the choices he had made in his life had been right, if following his father’s wishes instead of his own had been what the Gods had set out for him, if joining the army was a choice he made for himself or for his honour. But none of that mattered now, because even if in his lifetime he had made every wrong decision possible, the only decision that mattered was Brienne, and she was his one right choice that gave him the happiness and hope that no other could have. She was so right, and he felt it in every caress of her kiss, and in the way her body embraced his with such familiarity it seemed that she had hand crafted him herself. 

“Tell me, Brienne Tarth,” Jaime whispered against her lips, the brush of skin igniting the life inside of him that had been dedicated to her. “How do you feel?” 

Brienne smiled then, and even without words, Jaime knew the answer. 

“Like I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for reading!!   
you’ve been the best support i could have asked for <3

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, Brienne will be more feminine in this fic as a whole and the reason behind it is that she can still have as much strength and as much courage whilst being more feminine, especially in modern au.


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